


The Days That Follow

by Sroloc_Elbisivni



Series: Time Travel Sucks [3]
Category: DCU (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comic Book Science, Conner needs a hug, Court of Owls, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gar needs a hug, Justice Lords, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Phantom Zone, Raven is comatose, Talon!Dick, YJ Justice Lords, possibly years of therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 17:52:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3456377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sroloc_Elbisivni/pseuds/Sroloc_Elbisivni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "A Thousand Days Later".</p><p>The failure of the Cosmic Treadmill meant the timeline remained unaltered and the Lords in power. But with Gotham's rising vigilante population, the escape of a new project from CADMUS, disturbances in the Phantom Zone, and escalating tension in the ranks of the Justice Lords, that might not be the case much longer...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One Month Later

_When he wakes, it is dark._

_It is dark, and he does not know where he is._

_He does not know_ who _he is._

_"_ _Welcome, Richard Grayson."_

_He looks up, up, up, and his vision is blurred, but he can see several moons drifting past the edge of it._

_"_ _Welcome to the Court of Owls."_

_He wants to ask, something, anything—where is he? Why is he here?_

_"_ _Your task is to complete the labyrinth. Do so and you may survive."_

_But nothing comes out of his mouth, and pain runs through his body as he tries to stand. It is everywhere, and it sharpens his mind to one goal._

Survive.

* * *

_He does not know who he is, or where he is. It does not matter._

_All that matters is the maze, the maze and the Court._

_He can hear them up there, the owls, laughing every time he stumbles, every time an involuntary whimper of pain escapes. It infuriates him._

_He finds a stick in a corner—it is too smooth, it screams_ wrong, _but it is the right length. He uses it, and the rags it lies among, to splint his leg._

_A part of him wonders how he knows._

_But it doesn't matter. All that matters is the maze._

_So he splints his leg, and grits his teeth, and ignores the pain, and keeps walking._

* * *

_He fights the shadows when they attack. He grabs a pair of bones and wields them against the onslaughts, determined to ignore the pain they afflict._

_Pain doesn't matter now. Nothing matters but the maze and the Court._

* * *

_An eternity later, he cannot remember the sun._

_He cannot remember that there is a sun._

_He cannot remember._

_He cannot remember anything but the maze. The maze and the Court._

* * *

_The fountain is white, a source of light as it rises from the shadows._

_He has survived. He has made it._

_But he needs water if he wants to keep surviving. He collapses on the fountain and gulps down as much of the liquid as he can._

_He regrets it the instant the water burns down his throat and swallows his mind in darkness._

_Regrets do not matter. Pain does not matter. Nothing matters but the Court._

_Nothing has ever mattered but the Court._

* * *

_It is cold._

_It has been cold for another eternity._

_But now it is not cold, and he is awake._

_He is still cold._

_He remembers little outside of the cold._

_There is fighting, and there is learning, and there is standing, and there is listening, but there is no talking. Not ever._

_He tries talking, once._

_They lock him inside the cold._

_He does not try again._

* * *

_It is a while, he thinks, before they bring him out of the cold._

_The owls have returned, and he stands to attention. Learning attention had been a painful lesson. He is not supposed to feel pain. He does not want to learn the lesson again._

_"_ _Are you sure he is ready for this?" He cannot tell which owl is speaking. They are not speaking to him, so he should not pay attention. That is what they have taught him. "It may be too soon."_

_But something else, something from before-the-cold, makes him listen. Remember everything._

_"_ _He remembers nothing except our teachings. He's the perfect blank slate, and if he ever becomes too retractable, we can simply recall him for retraining."_

_He does not like that idea. He knows better than to let them know._

_They have given him a suit of brown and black, with goggles to cover his face. The goggles do nothing to darken the white of the faces of the owls. They stalk around him, only one remaining in front._

_"_ _Talon," that one says. "We have a task for you."_

_He continues to watch and listen. He may listen now._

_"_ _There is a new vigilante group active in Gotham, comprised of three people. A blonde adolescent girl, a young juvenile male, and another female. Their capabilities are, as of yet, unknown. You will follow them, discover their place of residence, and assess their abilities. You will not engage until we give the order. There is a safehouse prepared for you in Wayne Tower. You will be stationed there until further notice. You will ensure no one is aware of your presence. If anyone sees you, make sure they do not live to tell. Do you understand?"_

_He nods. Find the three. Follow them. Learn their weaknesses._

_Remain hidden. Do not be seen._

_Kill at the orders of the Court._

_"_ _Then go forth, Talon—and make sure that this city remembers the name of the Court of Owls."_

* * *

**Gotham City**

**April 21** **st** **2019**

**22:19 EST**

"Whoo-hoo!" Cassie calls as she swoops low across a rooftop.

"Wonder Girl!" Donna lands lightly on the roof behind her protégé before jumping and gliding to land again beside Cassie. "We're supposed to be patrolling _stealthily_ , remember?"

Cassie rolls her eyes and shakes the rain out of her face. "Yeah, yeah, I know. But hey, you're better, we can actually get _out_ of the safehouse, and the city is ours! Besides, it's pouring rain, who's gonna see _eeeagh!_ " Her last word turns into a shriek as someone jabs their fingers into either side of her stomach. She spins on her heel, gauntlets up to confront the offender, but winds up being forced to lower them with a grumble when she sees who it is.

"Hood!" Donna admonishes him with laughter in her voice, the traitor. At least she isn't bent double like her boyfriend is.

"Oh my _god_ , Wonder Girl, you should have seen your _face._ "

Cassie's getting ready to punch Jason, but before he can launch into a fresh wave of laughter, he stops and pulls up, white lens-eyes fixed on something behind the two warriors.

"What?" Donna turns to look behind her and Cassie follows her lead, both of them squinting into the rainy night.

"I saw someone moving," Jason says. His voice has dropped. "And I'm not a hundred percent certain, but I'm pretty sure they were wearing a costume."

* * *

"Damian, how many times do I have to tell you? _Stay out of the light!"_ Stephanie grabs the back of Damian's black hooded cape and hauls him back into the shadows. The cape isn't big enough to cover him completely, and since he's wearing red, green, and yellow underneath (he had almost stabbed her when she called him a traffic light), he's far from invisible.

"Tt. This city is my birthright. Why should I care if anyone sees me? They should know I am here." He wrestles his way out of her grip, but thankfully stays out of the light of the streetlamp. "And if you place a hand upon me again, you _will_ lose it."

Stephanie suddenly remembers why she didn't want to go out alone with him before. She looks him over again, trying to figure out where on earth he could be hiding one of the knives and/or swords she knew she hadn't been able to keep him from taking. Hopefully it would only be a knife. "How—never mind, I don't want to know. Damian, I know the Lords haven't been seen in Gotham for a while, but I almost _died_ for running around this town in costume. I'd really, really, _really_ rather not go through that again, especially since _no one is supposed to know you exist._ "

Damian—well, Stephanie thinks he might be trying to growl, but it honestly sounds very kitten-ish. "I am _heir_ to this city. They should know I am here, and they should fear and respect me."

 _Breathe in. Breathe out. Do not beat head against a wall. Do not try to strangle small demon assassin brat. He knows ten ways to kill you in your sleep and is probably carrying sharp things._ Stephanie reaches up to pinch the bridge of her nose but stops when her fingers hit metal. Her old costume, the one she used before this, had, well…okay, three words: yards. Of. Spandex.

Yeah, she has regrets.

Now, she doesn't have the security of a full-face mask, but she has a handy filter that covers her mouth and nose, and a clinging suit of spandex and body armor with lots of handy pouches.

Plus a cape. It's _eggplant,_ and _awesome,_ thank you very much, and it hangs just right so she blends into the shadows better. Also, it keeps off the rain she missed for like a month and then was happy to live without.

Capes seem to be the Thing, currently, with the three of them. Damian had started it by insisting on the aforementioned black cape (she doesn't totally believe that he's Batman's kid, but after the past three years…well, her skepticism meter has gone way down), Stephanie had accidentally shredded one of the versions she tried to sew for him and Cass, for reasons unknown, had immediately claimed that one. Since fighting the only person probably on the face of the earth who could actually keep Damian in line seemed like a bad idea, she had thrown up her hands and gone about recreating her old cape.

Stephanie's jolted out of her musings by Damian trying to run ahead, _again,_ and makes a growl that she assures herself was far more impressive than his as she chases after him down the wet alley.

Fortunately for her sanity (and probably also her fingers) Cass drops out of nowhere and lands in front of Damian, halting him in his tracks. He scowls up at her through his domino mask as Steph catches up.

Cass had gone the simple route by covering her head entirely with a black cowl, sporting an all-black bodysuit with exercise tape wrapped around her wrists and forearms, and the same tattered black cape. She definitely has a thing for black, but Stephanie doesn't really think she has any ground to stand on regarding the whole theme-color thing.

"Stay hidden...is too hard now?" Cass asks Damian.

His scowl shifts to a grumble, but he doesn't argue.

Steph would like to nominate Cass for godhood now, please and thank you.

Suddenly, both of the assassins immediately straighten up and shift their stances, eyes fixed on the sky. Stephanie shuts up and follows where they look, trying not to gulp audibly when she sees a shadow float across the sky.

Followed by another.

And—yup—a third shadow underneath them, slipping along the street.

She racks her brain frantically, trying to remember all the snippits of news on the Lords she managed to pick up—who's been seen lately? Who's missing? Have any warrants been issued for new metahumans?

The trio collectively holds their breath as the other figures move over the rooftops towards the alley where Steph and Damian just came from.

Damian valiantly ignores the "I-told-you-so" look Stephanie delights in giving him.

After a few more minutes, the area is clear, and Steph releases a sigh of relief.

"Head for Harper's," she murmurs, shaking water out of her face. "I need to talk to her about the Resistance."

* * *

Donna and Cassie drop down into the alley as Jason, who came up around the perimeter, follows.

"See anything on heat vision?" Donna asks, bending down to look at the ground.

"I got nothing. Doesn't say much—if they're anyone who knows anything about what they're doing, they'll have covered up with the good stuff to block it out."

"And if they're not?" Cassie ignores their conversation and looks up. No one ever thinks about 'up' as a means of escape like fliers do.

She's just in time to catch a glimpse of someone somersaulting over the edge of the roof.

"Hey!" She takes off after the figure through the rain without a second thought.

By the time she's up, though, the roof is empty.

Donna follows a second later, carrying Jason. "Wonder Girl, what is it?"

"I—I just thought I saw someone." _Dammit._ Now they're going to think she's jumping at shadows.

Jason seems to take her seriously, turning on his heat signature filter and heading over to the edge of the roof.

"Nothing. No heat sigs anywhere. Sorry, prophet, looks like you live up to your namesake this time."

Cassie sticks her tongue out at him. It's an old joke between the two of them after he gave her a copy of _Agamemnon_ for her sixteenth birthday. She had punched him for it—mostly because it had been her mother's joke first, and the loss had still been raw—but she kinda likes it now. She can't ever let him know that, of course.

Donna looks around, searching the area. "I don't see anyone either. But it's our first night out, Wonder Girl, it's understandable if you're nervous."

Cassie twitches at the statement. "I am _not—_ "

"You jumped a mile earlier when if poked you in the kidneys. Normally you'd just deck me if I did that."

She grumbles, but concedes the point. "So now what do we do?"

"Looks like we're just gonna call it a night. Nightwing hasn't been out in a while, but the Lords came down hard on Gotham." Jason shrugs and gets to his feet. "There really isn't much trouble at all around here. Plus there's this new Thai place down by 34th I wanna try."

"Better than chili dogs?"

"Nothing's better than chili dogs, princess."

Cassie stares at the edge of the roof for a few moments more before following her mentors.

Behind them, a figure in brown and black clings to the shadows of the building, watching the trio go.

* * *

_There were only supposed to be three. But there are six. The man, the girl, the woman. The boy, the girl, the unknown._

_They do not know of each other. They do not know of Talon. But Talon knows both, and what he knows, so does the Court._

_He has been following them for two nights. There is the girl in purple, who is not a fighter—but she is experienced. She is at home in these streets. She knows them in a way that makes something in his chest hurt. Something that says he should know them like she does._

_There is the boy, who knows them not at all, but pretends he does. He is like the small creatures that slip along the alleys, the ones that do notice Talon until he moves. Sometimes they get close enough so he can see their big eyes and twitching ears and fluffy skin. He likes them, he thinks. The boy likes them too. It is how Talon learned that he can touch their fluff if he is patient and steady._

_The unknown moves like he does. She is quiet, and stealthy, and sees all. Talon must work hard to avoid being seen by her. She does not know these streets, either—not as the other girl does. The girl knows them the way he knows the maze and the court. He does not want to think about how she knows them that way. The unknown does not know these streets, but she is trying to learn. She learns quickly the layouts, the crevices and shadows and hiding places, but she does not know all of them._

_The unknown learns them by rote. The other girl knows them by heart. The boy is trying to make the streets learn him. He will fail. He has too much firey light, when what the streets demand is shadow._

_Talon is not sure the Court will care about these things. It does not matter to him. He likes his assignment to gather information on them. It means he is allowed to watch them as much as he likes. And he likes watching them._

_He found their residence already. It was a simple task. The girl who knows the streets at least knows enough to try to lose him, but she could not. The unknown might have spotted him, but she was too busy learning her own route. Now, he has plenty of time to find other ways to her home. Those will help Talon avoid the unknown._

_The boy is too busy trying to make the girl and the unknown notice him to ever notice Talon._

_But the new three…_

_The two girls are powerful, but they do not know these streets at all. They do not watch as they should. They do not walk the ground as they should, if they want to know these streets._

_Still, the younger almost saw him earlier. She did not quite believe what she saw, so he does not have to kill her._

_The Court says that Talon's purpose is killing. Talon has, indeed, killed before. There were three—all maze-addled, two delirious. All caused some complaint from the Court, even if they liked watching him kill. It had been hard for them to get the victims._

_Killing was easy. He slit the neck of the first, smashed in the head of the second. The third fought back, and broke his neck._

_That injury took some time to heal. He ripped out the victim's throat in retribution._

_The Court ordered all three deaths. They have not ordered the deaths of any of these._

_When he considers it, he dismisses the idea. Talon kills only on the orders of the Court._

_Talon also notes that he does not want to kill any of them. Death seems messy. Inefficient._

_And something about the way the man moves, the way he knows these streets even better than the girl or Talon does, makes him…_

_…_ _it makes his chest hurt._

_The man does not remind him of the fluffy creatures in the alleys. The man almost reminds Talon of the owls that live in Wayne Tower, with their deadly grace and ease in the air._

_Almost._

_Talon has not been ordered to watch this group. Talon does not know if he will watch them anyway. They are fascinating, but they make his chest hurt and do not pose a serious enough threat._

_He will consider the matter later. The first three are his primary objective._

_Talon will follow them now._

* * *

**Washington DC**

**April 21** **st** **2019**

**22:19 EST**

Wally sighs as he turns the key in the lock of their new apartment.

"Honey, I'm home," he mumbles, wandering inside and collapsing on the end of the couch.

He feels the floor under his feet rattling and rumbling as Artemis wheels her way over.

"Rough day?" Her voice is dryly amused.

"Five transmission overhauls. _Five._ Why doesn't anyone know how to take care of their own cars?"

"If they did, you probably wouldn't have a job, and you would also probably be dead."

" _What_?" That wakes Wally up and even convinces him to open his eyes and stare at her. "Why?"

"If you didn't have a job, you'd still be in the house fussing over me and I would have lost patience and murdered you a long time ago."

"Huh." Wally considers this. "Okay, you're probably right. How was your day?"

"Not bad. I called my mom and we chatted. Jaime dropped by looking for Bart around noon and made a grocery run, so we're good for another couple of days. He also took those library books back before the due date and picked me up a couple more. I hacked your phone and deleted your Beach Boys music."

"You _what?!"_ Wally yelps, sitting up. "Artemis!"

She's laughing and shaking her head as he frantically pulls out his phone and scrolls through it. "No. Can't get into cell signals yet." The smile slides off her face, replaced with a grimace. "Turns out hacking is freaking _hard._ I thought I was okay at coding, but this is on an _entirely_ different level."

Wally stands up and walks over, gently wrapping his arms around her shoulders and bending over to plant a kiss on her head. "You'll get it, babe. I know you. You never give up."

Her head suddenly twists out from under his lips until she's smirking up at him. "Never, hmm?"

He grins and leans in, just a little bit. "Weeell…not when it's something you _really_ want…"

Artemis's laugh vibrates her shoulders under his arms and he leans in even closer…

…just as the doorbell rings.

Even though they've discussed it, it still unnerves him that she can pull three knives out of he-really-doesn't-want-to-know-where and tuck them into her hand by the time he's next to the door.

One look through the keyhole doesn't help him decide whether he should tell her to put them away or not, so he settles for grimacing, gesturing _safe,_ and opening the door.

"Jade, _what the hell,_ it is literally ten thirty and okay baby." He opens the door with the intent to chew her out before having a diaper bag dumped in his arms and a (fortunately civilian-clothed) assassin stalk into his home.

"Sorry to impose, my regular babysitter's in El Paso. Lian's currently being spoiled rotten by her dad and grandfather, but Paul had to make the trip with me. Got a mission that shouldn't take longer than tonight, I'll be back by seven. Thanks, sis, gotta run."

Jade places Paul carefully in her sister's lap before she's out the door again, leaving the couple staring blankly after her.

"What."

"I officially hate your sister."

Artemis sighs and bounces Paul in her arms as her nephew begins to fuss. "Join the club."

* * *

**The Batcave Computer**

**April 21st**

**22:27:34 EDT**

_File: Project Taurus_

_Host Server: CADMUS labs_

_Program: Fireworks 2.0_

_Type: Virus_

_Countdown to Release: 00:15 seconds_

_Registered user code: RG4_

_Last reset: 10/3/19_

_Automatic release date: 30/3/27_

_Enter passcode to reset countdown_

* * *

**CADMUS Labs**

**Washington DC**

**April 21** **st**

**22:27:49 EDT**

Project TX is fast asleep in her pod. She knows she has to be, because the moon is _right there_ in front of her, and her brother isn't here with her.

She loves dreams, and hates them at the same time, because she sees all these wonderful things, but she can't share with Project TY.

Well, she probably _could,_ if the stupid G-gnomes would just cooperate.

Everything in the dream dims blue, and she groans, because Lefty is just too sensitive, okay?

_Sorry, Lefty. But you know I'm not really angry at you, I'm angry at the stupid people who—_

_:You must awaken.:_

The dreamscape goes abruptly blank as Project TX looks around for the genomorph who spoke. The voice sounded kind of familiar…

 _:You must awaken,_ now. _:_

"Ow!" she yelps as she jolts awake in her pod. She immediately clamps a hand over her mouth—she's not supposed to talk unless the scientists want to ask questions or Uncle is here, but Uncle hasn't been here in ages and what if she gets in trouble?

But no one's there except for Dubbilex, who's nice, even if the scientists make him separate her and TY with telekinesis sometimes.

Lefty, Middle, and Righty are all quiet now, and not sending anything into her head. They're supposed to tell her the training schedule on days she actually wakes up, but they're not doing anything.

What's going on?

Dubbliex's horns glow red, and her pod opens up.

Normally, she'd be out of there in a second, but this is weird and scary.

_:Come with me, child. You need to leave, now.:_

_:What's going on?:_ she _thinks_ at him, just like she would at her G-gnomes. What is this, what if it's a trick, or a test, and she's failing? The scientists will be mad if she leaves, and even Uncle told her to never get out of her pod without permission…

 _:This is not a trick. I promise.:  
_ She stares at him.

Dubbilex isn't capable of sighing, but he looks a lot like Dr. Roban does when TX won't stop asking him questions. _:We do not have much time before the power grid is restored. You and your brother must be out by then.:_

Out like out of the pods?

She pushes off of the back of her pod and runs over to Dubbilex and the world goes fuzzy for a moment. "Really? You mean it? We get to get out?"

He blinks down at her. "Yes."

" _Awesome!"_ She can talk to Dubbilex. He doesn't mind. "Are we running today? Do we have to go to the icky labs? Where are we going? Is there—"

"I'm afraid you misunderstand my meaning, sister." He turns around and heads for the door (the _open_ door) as she walks quickly to keep up. She's not supposed to run without permission, and anyway, it's no fun without TY.

"You and your brother are leaving Cadmus."

Okay, leaving Cadmus, that should at least—

What.

"What? Leaving Cadmus? But we don't leave Cadmus, this is our home." She stopped for a few steps, and then she had to catch up with him and she thinks she might have run but that doesn't matter because they can't leave Cadmus—

_:Calm yourself.:_

So TX tries to breathe in and out slowly and carefully like she does after she's had to run on the treadmill for a long time, and thinks about happy things, like dreams about the moon and the sun and when she and TY get to do exercises together and figure out ways to solve puzzles, and how Uncle taught them to do backflips the last time he visited, and her and TY's secret names.

And it works, and she can think about _outside_ without panicking, and she can follow Dubbliex to the other end of the hallway and the doors labeled Project TY and _she gets to go inside._

She hasn't actually been in TY's room, not since they both turned one and the scientists decided they had to have their pods in separate rooms.

He always tells her it's really boring, and it kinda is, but that doesn't matter because he's here, and Dubbliex lets her poke him to get him out of his pod, and then Dubbilex is talking in their heads about how to take the stairs up to the top level and push _this_ button and how they should go _here,_ to this house, and she's holding TY's hand and they're running together, like the scientists almost never let them do anymore (because they want TY to get faster on his own instead of sharing speed with her and when they first did it TX got so mad that she screamed at them and she had to stay in her pod for a week and couldn't see TY for a month, and she's still mad because _couldn't they see how much it was hurting him?!_ ).

They're running, and there are so many stairs, more stairs than she ever knew existed, and then they're in a little hallway and the buttons Dubbilex told them about are _right there_ and TY has to push them because she's shaking too much and then the wall slides open and they're _out._

Everything smells so _clean._ The G-gnomes never gave them smells, and it's all fresh and new and nothing like the air on their level. There are flowers all around them, and she tugs TY behind her as she hurries out because what if the door closes again before she has a chance to see _flowers?_

And she doesn't let go of his hand, and she doesn't look up, because she's so afraid that all of this is just going to fall apart around her, so she just bends over and looks at the orange flowers with separated petals.

"Hey." Her brother is pulling at her hand, and she shakes her head, because he's here, and that's normal, but the moon might be up there, and he's never there when the G-gnomes show her the moon, and if she looks up one of them will have to go away and she can't lose either of them. She _can't._

"Irey, it's okay."

She snaps her head up to stare at him, because that's her _secret_ name, like Jai is his, but they never call each other that where anyone except Uncle can hear and _what if someone hears them?_

"It's okay," he repeats, green eyes steady and sparkling like they haven't since Uncle started showing him coding. "See?"

And he's so _happy_ and he's here and he's holding her hand and she feels safe enough to look up.

"Oh."

The moon is almost full, and it's not as big as she always thought it would be but it's so much _prettier,_ all silver-gray in the sky and glowy and there's a bunny in it. There's a bunny in the moon!

And it's the moon, and it's _right there_ in front of her, and Jai is here with her, and they're out of Cadmus and everything is new and scary but so, so, worth it.

So she looks out at the great big green space in front of her and wonders just how fast and far they can run together when there aren't any scientists to ever make them stop.

"Come on!" Irey says to Jai, because they aren't TX and TY anymore, and they won't ever be again, and he grins at her and they step together and take off running, letting the speed energy flow between them.

A small camera attached to the statue neither of them really looked at documents them running off and transmits the data before shutting down and erasing all its footage.

* * *

**Batcave Computer**

_File: Project Taurus_

_Host Server: CADMUS Labs_

_Program: Fireworks 2.0_

_Program status: successful completion_

_Total erasure of file data from host server in 4 minutes 59 seconds_

_Enter passcode to cancel erasure._

* * *

Barbara Gordon is once again monitoring global energy readings when she gets the alert.

She takes a moment to tweak the security feed. Tim's somewhere in Smallville, still looking into the Phantom Zone, and they'll need it soon with how unstable Conner's being. They've been rationing him for a week now, and it's starting to show, so she hopes that this time Tim has an actual lead. The point is, he'll check when he gets back, and she doesn't need him knowing just how far her network reaches.

So once the loop is going, she accesses her private system-specifically, the alert she has set up to let her know whenever something has been altered by the Bat-cave's computer.

To her disappointment, it's only a delayed program that ran down its clock and deleted some files from Cadmus. It's an unknown how long it's been ticking down, and she can't tell what it deleted from-

_Wait a minute._

She goes back to the globe and checks the scans.

The coding to scan for energy trails given off by speedsters has been deleted from the protocol.

By the Batcomputer.

Which she officially isn't allowed to access.

And unofficially hasn't gotten caught at yet.

Well, that's convenient.

So she closes down her network, unloops the security feeds, and goes back to scanning for energy signatures. If she doesn't report it, it could be weeks before anyone notices and recodes it.

She'll have to find some way to pass word to the Resistance that one of their biggest obstacles is out of the way.

_Things would be so much easier if Virgil was still their spy._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the pieces on the chessboard come into play...

**Watchtower-Prime**

**April 22**

**3:35 UTC**

M’gann is mediating again.

It’s been a month since the Arkham battle, and since she no longer has to deal with almost two dozen psychic links, her powers shouldn’t be so sluggish to respond anymore.

That’s the idea, anyway. Her mindscape has been messy and unstable for a while, and she’s put off repairing it for too long. Small bits and pieces aren’t connecting, like a picture with the lines stopping just short of touching. She’ll repair one section, only to have it fall to pieces when she moves on to the next.

And her headache still hasn’t gone away.

Her frustration mounts as her attempts to tug her psyche back into some semblance of order fails, and when her comm chimes, she physically slaps a hand onto it and without thinking, demands, “What?! _”_

“ _M’gann? Are you…”_

She scowls, even though Red Robin can’t see her. “I’m _fine_. What is it?”

“ _I’ve found the Phantom Zone portal. Conner’s on his way, but I would appreciate some backup.”_

“Understood. I’m on my way.”

M’gann shuts off her comm and moves out of her meditation position, letting her cape spring out from her neck and waft down around her ankles. A sudden wave of dizziness strikes, and she puts a hand to her head in a moment of weakness before frowning fiercely and pushing the pain away.

She can’t afford weakness. Not now. Not ever.

Her hand changes trajectory to pull her hood up over her bare skull just before her eye catches on a picture in the corner.

It’s an old one, perhaps four or five years old, from her first relationship with Conner. Garfield is in the photo, one of the many candids that one or another of the Team members snapped in the first few months that he came to live in the cave. Most of the pictures had wound up plastered all over Gar’s room to make him feel more at home, but she had saved this one.

In the picture, she was cuddling a green, sleeping Gar—from before he’d tried growing a tail—while leaning back against Conner. She wasn’t sure who had taken the photo; Robin, maybe? Whoever they had been, they had managed to catch the clone in a rare smile, aimed directly at her.

She hasn’t seen him smile like that in a long time.

M’gann shakes off the lingering memories and telepathically tosses the picture into a corner, ignoring the sound of breaking glass. It doesn’t matter that she can’t remember the last time Conner had smiled, or the last time she and Gar had been together for longer than half an hour when it wasn’t mission-related.

She can’t afford weakness.

 

* * *

 

**Smallville, Kansas**

**April 21**

**22:50 CST**

Conner lands in his new personal crater with a grunt. He used up the last of the shields Red Robin gave him halfway through his flight here. Crash landings were still a perfectly viable travel method, fortunately.

There had better be more waiting for him. Even without the strength of Superman, he’s powerful enough to—

_No!_

He jerks away from the mental image of his hands on Tim’s fragile, human neck and forces himself to stand up and head for the barn.

Something’s wrong with him. He’s angry, almost all the time, and he knows it. It’s the fault of the shields, probably, but it can’t be helped.

They just need to solidify their hold. To disable the resistance. To—to—to do _more._ Then he’ll stop.

He rounds the corner of the barn door. It’s dark inside, like the rest of the farm—Ma and Pa probably went to bed hours ago.

“Red Robin, I really don’t appreciate all the runaround. Why couldn’t this happen on the Watchtower?”

There’s nothing. Dammit.

He growls and stomps his way further into the barn, trying to listen for Tim’s heartbeat. Red Robin can install as much fancy tech as he want—heartbeats are distinctive. If he listens long enough, he’ll find it.

Tipping his head from side to side, he picks up _something_ in the shadows.

Yeah, there’s Tim’s, and there’s—

\--wait.

“M’gann?” he asks, startled. _What is she doing here?_

* * *

 

In the shadows, Red Robin grits his teeth. _Damn._

_:Cover’s blown, M’gann. Distract him while I get the portal set up.:_

_:Acknowledged.:_

M’gann lets herself decamouflage and drift out of the shadows. _:Hello, Conner.:_

Red Robin tunes out the next part of the discussion, busy running calculations on his wrist computer, and doesn’t bother listening until the tail end of a sentence breaks his concentration.

“—no shields, are there.”

 _Dammit, dammit, dammit._ He starts keying in the final sequences as fast as he can. _:I need another minute—improvise!:_

He keeps one ear on the proceedings to monitor whether or not they’re in imminent danger of a blowup when he hears a moan and fumbles a line of code.

Red Robin glances over his shoulder long enough to see M’gann sucking face with Conner like they had on the couch in the Cave that one time he walked in on them, and immediately whips back around.

_A tad excessive, but it’s working, at least._

Finally, the final numbers are in and he loops one of his belt grapples around a support beam before sending M’gann a mental pulse. _:Got it.:_

* * *

 

Conner is kissing M’gann, and he can’t think about anything else, because he’s been dumped straight back into a wash of memories, and trying to remember the last time they got to kiss like this, and for a moment, it’s all okay, just like it used to be.

And then she flinches, and pulls away, and her face is as white as ever, but he swears that her eyes are the same brown pupiled ones he saw when they first met.

“I’m sorry, Superboy. But this is for the greater good.”

Her voice is as smoothly modulated as ever, even though it’s the first time in months she’s spoken aloud outside of the occasional comm. It distracts him long enough that he doesn’t catch the meaning behind her words until a machine whirs to life behind him, her eyes flash red, and a wave of mental force shoves him back.

Conner only has a moment of shock before rage takes over.

He goes as incoherent as he ever was on shields, rage taking over until he can’t focus on anything except fighting, both against his former allies and the backwards pull of whatever machine is roaring in his ears.

M’gann simply goes intangible when he tries to punch her, grab her, pin her down and drag her through with him, and the whole time there’s a telekinetic wave pushing him back towards the source of the suction.

Digging in his heels is only so effective for so long. M’gann’s eyes flash again, her hands go to her head, and his feet are shoved out from under him, effectively landing him flat on the ground.

Conner’s fingers scrape against the wood floor, gouging out furrows as he furiously tries to hang on. But without shields to augment it, his rage-induced strength can only hold up for so long. His grip in the timbers weakens long enough for one last strong mental shove to send him flying backwards.

The last thing he sees before the wormhole makes him black out is M'gann--collapsed to the floor, but still staring coldly at him, face impassive.

 

* * *

 

Red Robin waits a full five seconds after Conner disappears from view to shut the portal down entirely. The swirling light and sucking winds die with a high-pitched whine, leaving the barn looking like a minor tornado just swept through. Tim takes a minute to further deactivate the rest of the equipment before checking on M'gann.

She's still on the ground in the middle of the floor, gaze blank and exhausted. 

"Miss Martian."

His voice seems to snap her out of it and she levitates upright, right hand supporting her forehead. 

_:Subject now detained in the Phantom Zone. Mission successful.:_

"Undoubtedly." He moves to check over the portal. "Quick thinking--though don't you think you may have been excessively cruel?"

She frowns, letting the hood of her cape expand and shroud her face again. "It was necessary."

He doesn’t comment on her continuing to speak aloud, but he makes a mental note to keep an eye on her if it becomes a recurring item. The energy readings of the site once again show normal levels, leaving him free to pack up and leave.

When he climbs onto his bike to leave, M’gann is still standing inside the barn, staring at nothing with eyes as blank as the back wall.

 

* * *

 

**Watchtower-Prime**

**April 22**

**4:20 UTC**

 

Gar wakes up abruptly, breath coming in pants, claws extended and tearing the mattress to shreds. He growls, retracts them, and swipes roughly at his eyes with the back of his hands.

“It’s stupid,” he mutters to himself. “Stupid.”

Nightmares about his mom’s death are rare, but every time it happens he’s eight years old again, hands digging into the ground, alone and full of grief and so, so, _angry._

He breathes in, slow and deep, unclenching his fingers one by one, trying to center himself.

Nightmares about his mom’s death may be rare, but every time they happen he knows he’s not getting back to sleep.

So he gets up and wanders out of the room and along the hallway, contemplating a sandwich, or maybe raiding the candy stash Tim keeps in the briefing room.

He’s distracted enough that when he reaches the atrium, he almost walks right into M’gann. She’s staring out at the stars, expression lost and skin green.

He grins a bit at that, and because she still hasn’t noticed him, starts putting an arm around her shoulders, loudly saying “Heeeeey, sis!”

She flinches, goes white, and density shifts through his arm and away.

“Whoa, are you okay?” He approaches her more slowly this time, hands raised.

“I’m fine, Garfield.” She pulls the hood of her cape a little closer over her face, hands bleaching to white. _:You just startled me, that’s all._ :

“Oh-kay…” His tail curls as an idea pops into his head. “Hey, if you’re back early, do you want to get some Oreos and watch a couple episodes of _Hello Megan!_? We haven’t had some sibling time in a while.” Garfield grins as big as he can.

_:I…I can’t. I need to meditate.:_

The tail changes from curled up in anticipation to drooping sadly. “Oh. Noted.”

 _:Sorry.:_ She starts walking towards the hallway, but stops halfway. _:Oh, as long as you’re here, would you mind taking the morning monitoring shift?:_

“Isn’t that Conner’s?” He cocks his head to the side, confused.

_:He’s been sent on a mission. Off-planet.:_

“And he didn’t even say goodbye?”

_:It was an emergency. I’m sure he would have if he’d had any notice. Can you take the shift?:_

“Yeah…yeah, I can do it.”

 _:Good. Thank you, Garfield.:_ She walks away.

He stands there for a bit longer, staring at where she vanished, before shifting into a cheetah and running the other way.

It takes three laps around the atrium before he stops feeling like something’s bothering him enough that he wants to turn into a snake and shed his skin.

But it’s still bothering him, so he switches to a bird and flaps up and away, changing a couple more times before coming up to the door and tapping in the code.

The door opens with a _whoosh_ as always, the hum of the machinery a familiar and almost comforting sound by now.

“Hey, coma girl. Guess who?”

 

* * *

 

**Unknown location**

_She comes to awareness slowly. Her eyelids are heavy, so heavy, far heavier than they should be, but she pries them open eventually._

_The sky is black with vivid red rings scattered around like stars—or it would be, if it wasn’t shrouded with a thick layer of clouds. Even more clouds float around the island of rock she sits on, hiding everything from sight._

_A black bird with bright red eyes flaps through the fog, cawing, only to yawn, land on a twisted tree nearby, and fall asleep._

_The fog begins to crowd in around her again, and she feels anger bubbling up. A red-cloaked figure appears and attacks the fog, snarling—_

No!

_She can’t allow her emotions to control her. Chaos within herself will only lead to chaos without. She flies at Rage, trying to contain her, only to have the manifestation turn on her consciousness._

_While her inner struggle rages and a red-garbed figure battles a blue one, the fog closes in again, and both of them know no more._

 

* * *

 

**Watchtower-Prime**

**April 22**

**4:30 UTC**

Garfield breaks off his story and stares as the monitor for brain activity lets out a higher-pitched series of beeps. He scoots closer and holds his breath as the line snakes up and down faster than it has before.

“C’mon, coma girl. Fight it! Wake up! I know you can do it. You wanna meet all this, don’t you?”

But almost as soon as the activity starts, it stops, and he lets out a long, slow groan as he flops back in his chair.

“I guess not today, huh.”

There’s no response. There never is.

“But I promise, it’ll be soon! I just need to get M’gann to help, I know she will, she’s the most powerful telepath in the world. She’ll be able to wake you up, I promise.”

As usual, the only sound is the steady beeping of the heart monitor.

 

* * *

 

**The Phantom Zone**

**What is time?**

“General, he is waking up!”

Conner can’t help the pained groan that squeezes out of his throat as awareness rushes back in and brings a headache with it.

_Feels like…a bus. Kryptonite…bus._

“I see that, Az-Rel.” A voice as cold with command as Kaldur’s had ever gotten demands a little more of Conner’s attention. “Dev-Em—is he secure?”

“Yes, General.”

 _Az-Rel…Dev-Em…_ Something about the two names nags at him, and the sudden realization makes his eyes snap open. _Those are Kryptonian names!_

“I see you’ve finally decided to grace us with your presence again, Kal-El.” The voice is more deriding now, but it’s still as hard as iron and chilly as the ice around the Fortress.

He can’t help the growl that starts up at the back of his throat. It’s not the first time one of the old Superman’s enemies has mistaken the two, but it especially grates now, when he thought he was finally free of his donor’s stupid shadow.

“I’m _not_ Kal. I am Kon-El. His brother.”

There’s another silence, but this time it feels…heavy with something.

A hand grabs his chin and digs in beneath his jaw, forcing him to look up.

The man—no, Kryptonian—who has him has a square face and a blocky jaw, with a neat goatee grown over it. His eyes are sharp and dark where they drill into Kon’s own.

“Adopted?” he demands. “Were you adopted into the house?”

Kon tries to yank his head away, with no luck. He settles for glowering up at the ‘General’. “What, you don’t see the resemblance?”

Apparently, the General isn’t one for insolence. His eyes flash and his fingers dig in further. “Who are your parents, Kon-El?”

_Like hell I’m answering that._

The General increases the pressure on his fingers until Kon is sure he’s going to break the skin. “I can do this for quite some time. You may not have that long, however.”

And for some reason, he can’t control his mouth. “I don’t have any parents. I was cloned.”

He can hear what sounds like a gathered crowd just out of his line of sight muttering, but when he tries to pick out what they’re saying…he can’t.

Kon realizes, belatedly, that he has no clue where he is. He tracks his memory back, trying to figure out how this could have happened.

And then he remembers Smallville. Going to meet Red Robin. M’gann…

 _No…_ No!

He can feel the rage burning up as he remembers her treachery—trying to mess with his mind again, using her telekinesis to throw him away like so much trash.

_And why shouldn’t she? She never wanted you. None of them did. Without your powers, you’re nothing but a liability…and you’ll never be good enough. Not without shields. Not without trying to be Kal._

Thinking of his donor just makes him even angrier, and he may not have his powers, wherever ‘here’ is…but he’s not exactly a slouch without them.

And they haven’t tied him up past a rope around his wrists.

Kon waits for the hand around his neck to pull away, then surges to his feet with a roar.

Just like back in the barn, he feels almost like he’s on shields again—rage is rushing through his head until he can’t think and barely focus past _hit everything._

But far too quickly, his rage suddenly drains away, taking all of his energy with it, and he sways on his feet before collapsing, eyes sliding shut in the wake of such immediate exhaustion.

He can hear people talking right over his head—a woman and the General.

“We cannot contain him if he continues like this.”

“Patience, Ursa. I have seen this sort of thing before. Give him time, and he will be no more than the rest of us.”

“We do not have the resources for such patience. We must—”

“The portal is going nowhere, and neither is he. We have nothing but time. As for containment…shut him in with the boy.”

Ursa’s voice is noticeably cooler. “And should he harm the boy?”

“It will not be as though we have lost anything of enormous value, would it?”

Kon doesn’t hear if Ursa responds; exhaustion overtakes him at last and everything is dark.

 

* * *

 

**The Phantom Zone**

**Time is a human construction that doesn’t really apply well outside of Earth, but a good approximation would be “later”**

 

Kon wakes up with a massive headache that really doesn’t help improve his temper, but he’s too tired to do more than lurch to his feet and try to figure out where he is now.

It’s too dark for him to see much, so he goes by feel. As far as he can tell, the walls were rough and unhewn stone under his fingers. The texture reminds him a bit of the upper walls of the Cave.

He keeps up the same strategy, one hand on the left wall and until it opens up into a passageway. For lack of anything else to do, Kon keeps moving, determined to find some way out. It’s an exceedingly frustrating prospect to flail his way around in the dark, and he can feel his annoyance building with every step and stumble.

When he reaches a dead end, his temper snaps, and he turns around with a growl just as a light flares up right in front of his face.

Kon roars and lunges forward, half-blind, and there’s a high-pitched shriek as the light goes out.

He smacks into the wall and sees stars for a minute.

Even without powers, his hearing is improved by the dark, and he can make out shaky, fast breathing—a child, trying to be quiet.

His first thought is to curse himself for being an idiot. The second is less of a thought and nothing but pure emotion—panic.

 _No, no, there’s a kid here, there can’t be a kid here, there can’t be a kid near_ me, _I’m dangerous—_

He grits his teeth and growls out, in the angriest voice he can muster, “Leave me _alone!_ ”

There’s a hitch and a squeak, but no footsteps running away, so he tries again. “Didn’t you hear me? I said _go away!”_

There’s a long, quiet moment, and Kon hopes for a bit that the kid might have slipped off as quietly as he’d been following earlier, but that hope is lost when a soft voice announces, “N-no.”

The half-Kryptonian lets out a long sigh and collapses back against the wall. “Look, kid…you saw what happened when you turned on the light. I’m not in a good place right now. I don’t want you to get hurt, and if I get angry or scared enough…I might not be able to stop myself.”

“’M good at running away.”

Kon has a feeling he’ll get angry if he thinks about the implications of that. He doesn’t think about the implications of that. He’s still angry.

“You’re not going away

, are you.”

“No.”

Kon sighs and leans back. “You have a name?”

“I’m Lor. Lor-Zod.”

“I’m Su—Kon. I’m Kon.”

There’s quiet for a moment, and then he asks, “Why are you in here, anyway?”

“The General says I have to stay in here for my own safety. He says that there’s a bunch of criminals and bag-bonds out there.”

That throws him for a loop until he realizes the kid—Lor—probably means ‘vagabonds’. “You always do what the General tells you?”

“He’s my father. Ursa says I’m supposed to listen to him and her or else.”

Kon has a bad feeling, but he asks anyway. “Or else…what?”

“If I don’t listen to the General, then I’m not a good soldier, cos good soldiers follow orders, and if I’m not a good soldier, than I’m not a good resource, and if I’m not a good resource, then I’m not worth wasting resources on.” The piping voice says this with a solemnity reserved for absolute gospel.

Kon thinks he punches the wall a few times before the rage runs out and leaves him exhausted again.

 

* * *

 

When he wakes up for the third time in a day, in a pleasant turn of events, he can actually see. A candle is set out on the floor in front of his legs. The guttering flame nicely illuminates a pair of wide blue eyes fixed on him.

They’re huge and sad and awestruck and lonely in a way he hasn’t seen since they found Gar after his mom died, and something in Kon’s chest twists painfully.

He sighs and gets to his feet, and Lor scrambles up after him.

“Look, kid…you’re a good person. I’m…not. Just stay away from me. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Lor just gives him a Look. “You could have, earlier. You didn’t.”

“I—that doesn’t—” Kon groans. This kid is more stubborn than _he_ was (is), and that’s saying something.

“Besides,” Kon has to make himself freeze as Lor suddenly appears in his personal space and taps the crest on his chest. “You’re of El. You’re supposed to help people. Like—”

Kon grits his teeth, willing himself to remain calm as he waits to hear yet another person sing his donor’s praises.

“—Jor.”

_Wait, what?_

“Jor?” he asks, dumbfounded. “The scientist?”

“Uh-huh. Raya told me he’s the one who got Ursa and the General and everyone else here off of Krypton before it blew up.”

Kon just stares for a bit, because _that’s_ definitely a new comparison for him, and all he can think to say is “Raya?”

“Uh-huh. She was his assistant back on Krypton. She told me lotsa stuff when she was in here with me. Ursa wanted her to look after me.” He looks down and wraps his arms around him. “A spider got her when she went out a couple years ago. The General told me.”

“A spider?” Kon shakes his head. “Never mind. Look, I’m not Jor-El. I’m not even…” His fingers stray to brush over his shirt. He hadn’t been wearing his full costume when he went to see Red Robin ( _don’tthinkaboutitdon’tthinkaboutit)_ , just the shirt with the crest and no cape or leggings.

“I’m not even sure I deserve to wear this.”

And for the first time in his life, Kon pulls off the crest of the house of El, dumps it on the floor like so much trash, and walks away.

 

* * *

 

**Unknown Location**

**Earth**

**April 21**

**22:40 PST**

Luthor has been waiting for three weeks for everything to align properly. It all comes down to this one instant—a line of code playing out in front of his eyes, a set of humming computer terminals running on their own generator, and far, far above, a satellite moving slowly into place.

With one final _whirr—_ the signal goes through.

The screen is filled with static, but that’s all right—it lends an air of familiarity to the meeting. A silhouette Luthor recognizes from years’ worth of memories of meetings with the Light appears.

“ _Luthor. It seems reports of your death have been greatly exaggerated.”_

So they’re using names now, are they?

“Savage. I was wondering what dank cave you’d crawled into this time.”

“ _Well, with the sidekicks going rogue, it seemed as though more extensive planning would be needed with our…allies.”_

“Of course. And how goes that, anyway?”

“ _I’m sure you’ll be able to see for yourself—that is, if you have any_ useful _information to exchange. Come now, Luthor, surely you remember how this works.”_

“Of course. But since I’m the one the ‘heroes’ will be most likely to track the signal to…why don’t you try for some courtesy and go first?”

Luthor wishes he could see Savage’s face. If the chilly silence is any indication…

“ _But of course. There’s someone here who wishes to speak with you, anyways.”_

The static on the monitor clears just as Savage steps out of the camera, allowing another figure to move into his line-of-sight.

Luthor inclines his head by the barest fraction—respect from one powerful ally to another.

“Darksied."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An alternate title for this chapter: people go ragey smashy and do things they regret.  
> Huge thanks to sass-mistress-lucifer for betaing.   
> Hello, I’m back! And I updated within a month this time, hooray.   
> Yes, M’gann is having problems with her telepathy. That might be good to remember.   
> Fun fact: I wrote the first section immediately after the first chapter. It took me three months to get the rest written.   
> I’m taking liberties with the portal science.   
> I wound up rewatching “Nevermore” to help get this chapter written.  
> Time is a human construction. And mutable. And annoying to organize.  
> Fun fact: I was listening to “Kryptonite” on loop while writing the scene with Zod and Kon. And then “Superman” by Five for Fighting for the scene with Lor.   
> Raya is a character people who watch Smallville might recognize her. If you don’t recognize her, nbd. She won’t be appearing again.   
> If you’ve seen the episode she appears in, you know there’s a reason for Zod trying to determine Conner’s gene structure. If you haven’t, I ain’t telling, because, well. Spoilers.  
> My only comment on the last section?  
> Muahahahahahaha…  
> The next update will either be the next chapter of this or a one-shot on a topic yet to be determined. Maybe the backstory of a certain Gotham trio.   
> Which reminds me, I’m terribly sorry if I disappointed anyone looking forward to a continuation of last chapter. I wanted to get all the arcs—which will be running simultaneously—started before going back to the first ones. They will be featured next time.  
> If you have the time, I’d really appreciate a review!


	3. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which cookies make excellent bait, Wally brings home strays with permission, and a certain man comes back to Gotham.

**Washington DC**

**April 24**

**20:12 EST**

Barry finds himself in DC more often than not, these days. Even when he’s not working to maintain his wife’s network or do some covert surveillance on the situation with the Lords, he’s been trying to connect more with Wally.

And for some reason, _he’s_ the one tapped to carry messages, baked goods, and other items back and forth between Wally and his parents. Because as Wally had informed him, “Some of us _work_ for a living, Uncle B.”

Barry’s protests that being legally dead and having a massive bounty on his head were perfectly legitimate reasons for not working were met with an unimpressed look and a retort of “Join the club.”

So for various reasons (that all have red hair and the last name _West_ ), here he is running through DC with a box of cookies in his arms when he spots a blur out of the corner of his eyes.

And he’s so used to _everything_ being a blur when he’s running that he doesn’t even register this _particular_ blur until he realizes it’s keeping up a few steps behind him.

He skids to a stop, and the blur scoots a few feet ahead until it realizes he’s not moving and promptly dives into the bushes before he can see it.

Barry just stares for a bit before taking off running again, a bit slower than before. The blur makes a prompt reappearance, keeping up a set distance behind him.

He skids to a stop again, and the blur vanishes behind a tree.

The last time he saw Don and Dawn, they were at home, grounded for the night under pain of Iris’s wrath—something he is very sure they would not risk. Bart has a date with Jaime and Wally’s at work—besides which, his nephew has been refusing to run recently. Barry would worry if he had time and if he didn’t think his nephew had valid reason.

Memories of trying to catch stray cats poke at his memory, reminding him that running over to the tree would be a very bad idea.

But since he has years of experience dealing with Wally and even more years of experience with Iris complaining about his own habits to draw on, he has a good idea of how to handle this particular situation.

Barry walks, at normal speed, over to the mailbox about ten yards away from the tree he last saw the blurs near. He purposefully keeps his back to the tree, giving them plenty of time to get away…

… _after_ he opens the box to let the scent of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies waft out.

Two, with a particularly high ratio of chocolate chips to cookie (Barry has an eye for this sort of thing after years of cookie battles) are set down on the domed surface before he walks away from the box.

He can hear the _whoosh_ and feel the air displacement at ten feet away. By the time he’s turned around—at normal speed—the cookies have vanished, and there are two different voices squabbling from behind the tree, words indistinct.

Both voices go silent when Barry clears his throat. He puts down another two cookies where he’s standing and runs quickly to the other side of the road.

This time, he turns around quickly enough to catch a red-headed figure in a yellow and white suit dash back behind the tree.

Barry walks slowly and with loud footsteps towards the edge of the lawn the tree’s on, and puts down four cookies this time, before retreating a couple feet away.

It takes a full seven minutes of waiting (and _maybe_ some surreptitious waving of fumes towards the tree) before a smaller blur than the first makes the cookies vanish in three seconds. He has to give them credit—those seven minutes must have felt like eternity.

This time, he just leaves the container open in his arms and waits for a head to poke out from behind the tree.

Square, orange-tinted goggles take up most of the small face with short-cropped red hair bristling out around them. Chocolate and cookie crumbs are smeared around a small mouth, and the shoulders clad in yellow and white are tense.

Barry smiles his most disarming smile and holds out the container.

“Hi,” he says, cheerfully. “Want some more?”

 

* * *

 

After half the cookies have been devoured (and a couple of his emergency energy bars as well, how underfed _are_ these kids?), the kids are more willing to talk.

Well, the girl, who calls herself Tee-ex, is. Tee-wi is much quieter, watching Barry from behind goggles with a wary expression.

“—so Dubbilex came and got me up an’ then I got to run inside and we got Tee-wi out and then he told us the code and we ran an’ ran an’ ran more than we ever have, ‘cept on the track which doesn’t count cuz’ the track is _boring,_ an’ Tee-wi had to put in the code an’ then we got outside and got to see _flowers_ an’ the _moon_ —didja know there’s a bunny in the moon?—and then we ran some more but it got harder ‘cuz my tummy started hurting an’ Tee-wi’s too but he won’t say anything an’ we tried eating flowers but flowers’re _nasty_ an’ we were really hungry, but we’re not going back to Cadmus, not _ever,_ and then we saw you and you were running really fast like us an’ we’ve never seen _anyone_ run as fast as us an’ then we followed you an’ you stopped and we thought you might be from Cadmus too, but you can’t ‘cuz Cadmus never gave us anything like these—” she waves another cookie in the air, and takes a big bite out of it. “—just nasty ol’ protein shakes and stuff in little bars that taste even worse than yours.” She eats the rest of it in three bites and looks guiltily at his wrist pouch. “Uh…you got any more? ‘Cuz these are good, but…”

But she’s probably still hungry. Barry does, in fact, have more, and it’ll mean he’ll have to buy food at a couple different stops on the way back so he doesn’t make any restaurant owners suspicious, but he hands one to Tee-ex and one to Tee-wi.

“Thank you,” Tee-wi says, softly. It’s maybe the first time Barry’s heard him talk.

“You’re welcome,” he says, with a warm smile. Tee-ex starts and looks guilty.

“Thanks!” she says, quickly swallowing the half of the bar she’s already bitten down on. “Sorry for not saying it earlier, but Uncle’s the only one who taught us manners—G-gnomes don’t bother an’ I don’t think anyone ever taught those stupid scientists manners.” She scowls, the look a bit too dark for her young face. Tee-wi has better control, it seems, but his face still goes pinched.

“I’m sure someone must have,” Barry offers. He’s trying to keep his expression neutral, even though he dearly wants to hunt down the ‘scientists’ who would be unethical enough to experiment on a pair of _children_ and lock them up.

“Must’ve been a long time ago,” she grumbles.

Wanting to change the subject, Barry inquires, “So your ‘Uncle’ taught you stuff, huh?”  
“Uh huh. He taught us how to do somersaults an’ cartwheels an’ poker an’ he gave us—” her mouth snaps shut, and she looks scared.

“What did he give you?” Barry asks, trying to be as gentle as possible.

“’M not supposed to tell. Anyone. Secret.”

“Names,” Tee-wi says, suddenly. Tee-ex swats at him, and he grabs her hand gently. “We’re out, we’re safe. They can’t do anything to us, Ree.” He looks up at Barry, eyes sober through his goggles. “Uncle gave us names. I’m Jai.”

Confidence bolstered by her brother’s, Ree looks up. “Yeah. And if you or anyone else calls me Tee-ex, I’ll smack ‘em.”

Barry chuckles. “Got it. Ree it is, then.”

Ree frowns, considering, and then nods. “Yeah. Ree.”

 

* * *

 

They have approximately three more minutes to eat cookies in peace before Barry’s comm starts making that annoying little clicking sound in his ear. He doesn’t get a buzz alert because it’s too easy to miss when he’s running.

“Flash here. Go ahead.”

“ _This is Kal-el. Can you get to Gotham?”_

Barry frowns. “Now’s not really a good time—”

“ _B slipped out and went back home. He’s not answering any communications. Not even from Agent A.”_

His “There-are- _children_ -in-this-house-Barry-Allen-you-watch-your-mouth” filter has been getting plenty of practice lately. It’s probably the only reason he doesn’t burst out swearing.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Barry lets the kids get all the way through the container before breaking the news. “Look, you can’t stay here. Something just came up, and I need to go, and you can’t stay with me.” Well, they _could,_ but one pair of speedster twins is all his house can handle, no matter what Iris will say once she sees Ree and Jai. “But I promise, I’m not gonna leave you alone. My nephew Wally is here in DC, he and his girlfriend have an extra room in their apartment, and they’re used to babysitting.”

“We’re not babies!” Ree complains.

Barry sighs. “It’s a turn of phrase. He’ll look after you, I promise.”

The twins trade skeptical looks between themselves before turning on him. He plays his trump card.

“Plus, he always has extra ice cream.”

Now their looks are less skeptical and more intrigued.

 

* * *

 

**Ford’s Garage**

**Washington, DC**

**April 24**

**21:04 EST**

Wally’s half under the undercarriage of a beat-up Lincoln, swearing as the screwdriver in his hand falls onto his face.

It’s very cathartic, so he continues in the same vein in regards to the leaking oil pan, differential, rear-wheel drives, and idiot drivers in general.

“Idiot drivers” on its own is enough to keep him going for a while, so between that and the heavy metal in the background he doesn’t notice the pair of legs next to the car before Barry almost yells, “ _Wally!”_

He makes the very bad choice of sitting up without thinking. The stream of invective that comes out includes more than a few words he learned from Roy, Artemis, and Dick during Mario Kart tournaments.

It’s a shame Batman confiscated the game. Each round was an extremely educational experience.

“Shame on you. What would your mother say?”

“She’d say don’t sneak up on someone under a damn _car,_ Barry.” He wheels himself out, still rubbing at the sore spot on his head. “What do you even _want?_ ”

“I wanted to drop off some stuff, I was hoping you could watch it for a while.”

Wally sighs. “This for Aunt I?”

“In a manner of speaking. Remember where you met your friend Conner?”

_Cadmus? Where would Barry get something on Cadmus?_

Against his better judgement, Wally’s intrigued, so he sighs and flaps a hand before scooting himself back under to wrestle with the drive shaft again. “Fine. Just leave whatever it is on my desk, I’ll deal with it after I finish this. And _don’t_ touch my notes, Arty won’t let me keep them in her office and they’re a pain to sort.”

“Great!” There’s a _whoosh_ , and then another. “The girl’s Ree, the boy’s Jai, they’re both speedsters and I need you and Artemis to watch them for a couple days, thanksatonWally, Igottagobyesorryaboutthis!”

And then there’s a final _whoosh,_ and he’s gone.

Wally’s brain takes a couple seconds to process, but that’s all Barry needs to really vanish. By the time he slides out, the garage is empty except for two young kids in hoodies and jeans sitting on his workbench and staring at him.

He can’t curse out loud _now,_ of course, but the mental flood of swearing would make even the most profane abuser of the English language wince.

 

* * *

 

Wally stares at the children on his workbench.

The children on his workbench stare at Wally.

Wally pulls out his phone and hits the second number on his speed dial.

“ _Wally? Did you get held up at the garage again?”_

“Um. In a manner of speaking. Hey, babe, do you remember when we got Nelson and you told me I was never allowed to bring home strays?”

“ _…Wally, what did you do?”_

“Who, me? Nothing! I was just wondering if that no-strays-clause also applies to strange speedster children from Cadmus. That Barry dumped on me without warning, I _swear_ I had nothing to do with it, I didn’t mean to drop this on you, have I mentioned how much I love you recently and how _very_ glad I am to _not_ be dead?”

A long silence echoes down the phone line, and the children on his workbench look intrigued. Wally takes the phone away from his ear and offers it to them.

“That’s Artemis on the other end. Do you want to talk to her?”

They stare at the phone with big eyes. Wally blinks and his phone is next to Ree’s ear as she says, cautiously, “Hello?”

Wally ignores the conversation and looks around to make sure the garage is clear.

 _It’s okay. It’s totally fine. Just speeding, right? You’ve done it a million times. Nothing’s gonna happen. You don’t even have to run, just—_ move.

By the time he’s cleaning grease off his hands, the driveshaft is fixed and Ree is babbling into the phone at top speed for a normal person, something about chocolate chip cookies and protein bars and flowers “—an’ Jai likes the fluffy orange ones. Here, Jai, say hi, she’s nice.”

The boy takes the phone hesitantly and says “Hi.” He holds onto it, brow furrowing, and hands it back over to Wally. “She wants to talk to you.”

“So, what do you think? Have I mentioned, again, how much I like not being dead?”

“ _We’ll need more groceries.”_

Wally sighs in relief and flashes a thumbs-up at the kids before thinking, _drat, Cadmus, they won’t know—_

But they both grin and flash it back at him.

_Huh. Cool. Barry teach them that, or did Cadmus upgrade their mind-training stuff?_

“Love you. We’ll be home in about an hour or so.”

“ _Don’t let them out of your sight.”_

“Relax. No one’s going to grab them on my watch.”

“ _All I meant was that there’s a reason I don’t go grocery shopping with you anymore.”_

“Aw, c’mon, Artemis, what’s—”

“ _Don’t. Even. Finish. That.”_

Wally opens his mouth, thinks better of it, and says, “Okay. See you soon.”

 

* * *

 

**Crock-West residence**

**Washington, DC**

**April 24**

**23:42 EST (aka, Not Soon.)**

 

Artemis hears the doorbell ring once.

Multiple times at a very fast speed.

Artemis wheels herself over to the door and throws it open. A boy in a red sweatshirt stands in front of the open door, reaching out to a girl in a blue sweatshirt with her finger on the button and a frozen, guilty look on her face.

Artemis only has to raise an eyebrow before the girl shoots off towards the spot Wally usually parks in.

They boy’s still there so she turns her attention to him and holds out a hand. “Hello, I’m Artemis. Come on in. I like making Wally do the work around here, don’t worry about bringing anything in.”

He stares at her hand and reaches out tentatively, giving it a cautious shake. “Hi.”

“Jai?” she asks, smiling. She’s better with small children who can’t talk back, but she can probably handle a quiet one.

“Yeah.”

“Well, you must be exhausted. There’s clean sheets on the bed in the spare room, I’ll show you the way.”

She wheels herself back until she can reach the hallway and turn around. Jai comes after her cautiously, footsteps uncannily light.

“Now, it’s not much, but, it’s all yours. Sorry there’s only one bed, but I thought you’d like it better than one of you having to sleep on the couch. I know you probably don’t have a lot of clothing, but Wally can take you shopping tomorrow, and we both have a couple of old…” She trails off at the look in Jai’s eyes, stunned and open and hopeful. “Jai?”

“You mean…we get to share? The bed, we get to share? We can both stay in it?”

“Of course. Like I said, there’s the couch— _oof!_ ”

She’s gotten a couple of superspeed hugs over the years, but generally, speedsters are cautious about knocking into someone. If Jai had more of a head start, she might have a few broken ribs from the way he crashes right into her.

“Thank you,” he says, voice muffled by her sweatshirt.

Before Artemis can do anything, her hair is being whipped around her face and she sighs as she tugs it back behind her head. Hairties, she’ll need more hairites…and paperweights, and maybe that ‘NO RUNNING IN THE HOUSE’ sign Iris lent her is around here somewhere.

But a smile still tugs at her lips at the sight of a larger blur rushing back into the guest bedroom and a rush of quiet, ecstatic speedtalk.

 

* * *

 

Wally is _trying_ to sleep in the next morning, because he doesn’t have to be at the garage until ten and can make it there half an hour, when he feels fingers jab him in his arm.

“ _Wally!”_ Artemis hisses right next to his ear.

“Ow!” He sits up and yawns. “Whaizzit?”

“The kids, Ree and Jai—they’re gone. They’re not in their bed or anywhere else in the apartment. I checked the security, and it hasn’t been breached, and if it was the Lords then we wouldn’t be here by now unless—”

It takes Wally’s brain a minute to catch up, but once it has, he’s up and sweeping through the apartment, trying to get it through his own head what Artemis just told him.

He stops at the guest room with a messy and very empty bed and looks around in a panic before a memory almost nine years old clicks into place.

“Oh!”

He could smack himself, but he doesn’t—just quietly slips over to the closet door and gently eases it open.

Inside, Ree and Jai are leaning against the back wall, holding hands, resting their heads on each other’s shoulders and very, very asleep.

“Found them,” he calls out softly.

Artemis is in the doorway in moments, and her sigh at the sight of the twins is enormous and filled with relief.

“How did you know?” she asks him, keeping her voice down.

Wally carefully scoops both of them up, carrying them back over to the bed. There are a couple murmurs of sleepy protest, but neither of them wake up, so he’ll count that as a win.

“Right after we busted Conner out of Cadmus, he stayed at my place for a few days because we hadn’t gotten the Cave yet.” He carefully pulls the blankets up to their shoulders. “He did the same thing. Said it reminded him of his pod.”

Artemis’s expression darkens, and Wally has a feeling his own is doing the same. It’s just yet another reminder that these kids--who stay together as often as they can, ring doorbells repeatedly, and stare at the aisles of a grocery store like Dorothy at the Emerald City--were experiments.

“We need to debrief them,” she murmurs quietly.

Wally hates that word for being so cold and clinical right now.

“Later,” he replies. “Let them sleep a bit longer.”

 

* * *

 

**Wayne Manor**

**Gotham City**

**April 24**

**21:30 EST**

 

Barry rounds the last corner and comes up against the wall of the cliff where he knows the Batmobile exits. He only has the patience to stand there and tap his foot at superspeed for barely a minute before he starts banging on the wall of the cliff.

“Bruce, I _know_ you can see me! Open up and let me in before I vibrate through the damn wall!”

Since no answer is as yet forthcoming, Barry winds up getting a running start in order to shift his molecules through the rock.

The caves are labyrinthine in design, but Barry’s been coming for years. It takes him even less time than usual to navigate through to the main cave.

Bruce is bent over the keyboard of the big computer, tapping away. Files come up and flash across. Barry tracks their movement with ease, but wonders how Bruce is keeping up.

“What do you _want_ , Allen?” he demands brusquely.

“To know what the hell you think you’re doing here. You left without telling anyone, to come back to what’s probably the most dangerous place on the whole planet, especially since the people _you_ trained have their own personal playground here.”

“Nightwing hasn’t been seen in a month. His codes haven’t been used to access the computer in almost as long, except for an anomalous occurrence two days ago. Even then, it was on a time delay. Red Robin and Red Hood’s codes have likewise gone unused. Batwoman has no access whatsoever. It was safe to come back. “

“Great. You’re back. So get what you want and let’s split before anyone finds out you were here.”

“I’m staying.”

“Have you gone as crazy as your kids? You can’t _stay_ here.”

“You and Iris have remained undetected for over a month, even with the complication of the twins. Artemis and Wally both have their faces keyed into the system and can’t afford to be caught on camera. Selina, Mrs. Crock, Mary and Rudy—they’re all living normally, even interacting with their communities. I’ve locked down all the entrances they know about, all of them except for the emergency one that leads to a well on the grounds. I can get in and out from there, though I doubt I’ll need to. I will be _fine._ ”

“You didn’t even think to _mention_ this to anyone?”

“You would have tried to stop me.”

Barry’s voice takes on a miffed tone. “ _Tried?”_

The fingers on the keys freeze, but the files onscreen continue to flash. A press of a key stills them, and Bruce turns around, face unreadable.

“Yes. _Tried._ You wouldn’t have succeeded, and do you know why? Because I have contingency plans. I know ways to take all of you down. I’ve written out solutions for dozens of scenarios, including ones that require, for various reasons, my or another non-meta having to subdue you. And I wrote. Them. Down. I shared them with my ‘kids’, as you put it. Almost every single one of these scenarios have come into play at some point since the Central City Picture News Station was blown up.”

“You mean that—you—”

“Yes. This is my fault. I made the plans for this, the blame falls on me.” His mouth tightens as he turns back to the computer.

Barry has to step back and pinch the bridge of his nose. “Bruce. May I remind you that the League found out in a particularly exciting incident that you have made enough plans to use up the alphabet three times over, for scenarios up to and _including_ zombie apocalypses. _Multiple_ zombie apocalypses. You have plans for every single damn thing I could possibly conceive of by thinking at top speed in a day and more that I couldn’t think of in my life. You think of things. It’s your job, it’s what you bring to the table. Just because you thought of something doesn’t mean you’re responsible for it being carried out.”

Bruce’s back stiffens, but he doesn’t bother turning around. “I’m staying.”

The stand-off is brief, icy, and somewhat one-sided. It ends when Barry throws up his hands in exasperation.

“ _Fine._ It’s not like I can _stop you,_ anyway. Just pick up the damn phone once in a while to stop Clark from flying up here himself.”

And with that, Barry turns on his heel and exits the same way he entered, feet pounding the ground with a little more anger than usual.

 

* * *

 

**Central Gotham**

**April 24**

**21:34 EST**

 

Stephanie knows from experience that the best way to deal with long night patrols is naps. Lots of naps. She’d enforce them on Damian, in the hopes of making him less cranky, if she thought it had a chance of working.

As it is, she’s been making pointed comments whenever he starts to doze, usually around three AM. He glares a lot, but hasn’t stabbed her yet, so she’ll take that as a win.

So he’s awake when she shuffles into the kitchen at nine-thirty or so, swallowing a yawn.

“Morning, Damian,” she says purely to irritate him as she breezes towards the coffee machine.

There’s no reaction, which makes her actually stop and frown, hand on the handle of the pot. “I _said—_ “

“I heard your inane disregard of time, Brown.” His voice sounds absent, and when she actually bothers to look, Damian’s bent over the screen of a tablet computer, tapping away.

“And…you’re _not_ going to gripe at me that I’m clueless and make nonsensical remarks?”

“I have far more important things to do,” he says dismissively.

That’s probably the point when little warning bells should have started activating dramatically, but hey, Steph hasn’t had her coffee yet and there are lots of things Damian could consider “far more important.”

So she disregards it until just before patrol when it finally hits her during getting dressed that she has yet to trip over one of Damian’s swords. Or any of his stuff, come to think of it, which is downright _weird_ —kid’s annoyingly meticulous on the run, but as soon as they settle in for more than a week, he sheds worse than a cat.

The cape is still on the bed and not her when Steph darts out, looking for some answers. Hopefully, she’s caught it in time to avoid having anything blow up in their faces. Again.

Her socked feet skid an alarming amount on the floor as she stops abruptly in the door to the main room. Damian is dressed in what Steph calls his ‘ninja’ outfit (but only when he can’t hear her after the first few rants on how he is the scion of a long, proud, noble line and nowhere _near_ as uncouth as some Japanese peasant) and bent over a well-packed backpack. It’s bursting at the seams more than it was when they got to Gotham, before a few trips to thrift stores (he had a minor snit over wearing second-hand clothes, but Steph had pressed the importance of flying below the radar, meaning _no tailored clothing,_ and also, the prices at higher-end department stores made her twitchy).

“ _Cass!”_ is the first thing out of Steph’s mouth, because no matter what Damian remarks snidely, she isn’t stupid; certainly not enough to take on this argument herself. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, buddy, what’s going on here?”

“I am not your ‘buddy’, Brown. And I thought even your feeble mind would be able to comprehend the obvious. I’m leaving.”

“Leaving for _where?_ And _why?_ ”

“Tt. Exactly why we came to this city in the first place.” He checked over the straps again as Steph’s mind skidded to process.

“You found your _dad?_ ”

Cass appears at her side, fully dressed aside from the cowl of her costume. That’s pulled down so Damian can meet the full force of a disapproving glare.

“Damian, your dad’s _missing._ No one knows where the hell he could be, and if he’s even half as smart as being the “World’s Greatest Detective” is supposed to make him—he won’t be anywhere _near_ Gotham.”

“Once again, Brown, you betray your limited intelligence and thinking. _We_ are here—”

“Because _you_ wanted to come!”

“—because it was the logical place to start looking. Because the advantages of a home base and being where no one would truly expect you to be outweigh the risks.”

“Well, ex- _cuse_ —”

“Damian.” Cassandra’s voice cuts off the steadily building argument. “You are…leaving us?”

Damian busies himself with the straps on the backpack. He doesn’t meet Cassandra’s eyes.

“I promised Talia…to protect you. How can I…when you…run away?” Her voice is less steady than usual, but Steph can’t tell if it’s from groping for more words than usual or the idea of Damian running off without her. “You…have proof? Of Batman?”

For the first time, Damian looks up at her, then looks down to retrieve the same tablet he’d been using earlier.

“I…did surveillance on his base. The Cave. I placed camera with connecting motion sensors on all the most likely exits. One activated earlier tonight.”

They watch the footage in silence—a blonde-haired man zooming up to the cliff side at superhuman speeds, pounding on it, shouting in a way that makes it pretty damn clear there’s someone inside. After he goes through the wall, Damian presses the fast-forward button, sending it ten minutes ahead to when the man comes out again, in a flash that can barely be seen.

“You see?” Damian says. “He’s in there. I know it.”

Cass looks at the footage, then up at Damian, and something in his face makes her nod. “Fine. We go…with you. Five…minutes.” She goes back into her room.

“Were you going to tell her?” Steph asks, quietly.

Damian scowls and roughly shoves the tablet back into his backpack. “I would have relieved her of duty, of course.”

“That wasn’t what I was asking,” Steph says, softly, but it’s pretty clear he’s no longer listening.

 

* * *

 

_Tonight, Talon is watching the three the Court has ordered him to watch._

_He has not yet reported to the Court to tell them of the other three, the new three. He has not yet been ordered to report, after all._

_Even if he is, there is little chance Talon will be asked about the new three. He has no reason to talk about them, either—they are not something the Court needs be concerned with._

_[Talon does not want to tell the Court of the new three—the ones he watches now are different, he was ordered to find them, and they interest him but those…those…_

_He sees the girl fly with a dark look on her face, and feels discomfort, as though one of his knives has been misplaced and the world is out of order (how does he know what her smile looks like?)._

_He sees from behind as the woman leans into the man and the man lean into her, and feels as though he does when he finds open wounds he forgot about, only to discover that they hurt._

_And he sees the man turn, sees the light reflect off the helmet, and feels as though he has fallen and landed wrong and broken both legs._

_No, Talon does not want to tell the Court of the new three. The Owls are not allowed to claim them and take them and hurt them (not like they did to Talon)._

_The new three are his.]_

_These ones, he watches, because he has been ordered and because watching the new three has started to make his chest hurt, and because he does not know what else to do._

_Talon watches as the three slip out onto the roof and waits for a count of ten, cataloguing them as they slip away. The boy is dressed differently than he has been on previous nights, wearing all black with not a hint of color and with two swords slung over his back. The unknown sticks to the shadows, as usual, but he can see that they carry a pack with them._

_He trails the trio over the rooftops as they make their way to the edge of the city—until they steal a pair of motorcycles. Then he runs, as fast as he can, barely keeping on their trail as they move out and out and out, past the homes of the wealthy and into near-wilderness._

_He watches all around him, of course, and as trees and undergrowth and the road all flash by, he settles into a rhythm of his feet against the ground. The ground under his feet becomes the asphalt of the road and he barely notices._

_In fact, it is not until he rounds a bend and finds himself at the gates to a massive estate that he finally becomes aware of his surroundings. The motorcycles have been abandoned in front of the wrought-iron works that are as tightly closed as a secret._

_Their lines are blurry. His lungs are tightening and he is breathing out of habit, far faster than he should. His hands are shaking, his legs are weakening to the verge of collapse._

_Clearly, he has been compromised. Something must be affecting his body._

_He will retreat until he can assess himself and return._

* * *

 

**Wayne Manor Grounds**

**Gotham City**

**April 24**

**22:13 EST**

Steph has never been to this part of Gotham before.

Logically, she knows that these huge manor houses are as much a part of Gotham as the dark (no longer dirty) streets she grew up in, but it’s hard to make the connection.

It’s also unfair how at ease Cass and Damian are in their surroundings. Steph’s torn between wanting to jump out of her skin at the gaunt, almost-wild grounds (Africa was different—she and Leslie always had somewhere to go, surrounded by people and light and warmth) and wanting to spruce herself up as they trail along tidy gravel walks and through pavilions (actual freaking _pavilions,_ rich people are _crazy_ ) in search of whatever Damian’s leading them to.

It turns out to be an old well, which is…both kind of disappointing and a perfect metaphor for her life. Sorta. Maybe?

“Yay, we found probably the only crappy old thing on this entire shmancy property. Go us.” Steph hoists Damian’s pack to a more comfortable position. Why is she carrying this?

Cass’s cowl tips towards her in a way that could mean one of two things—either Cass is baffled by Steph’s continued existence and the odd words she uses, or she’s smiling in that weird not-actually-smiling way that took Steph forever to figure out.

Probably option one. “’Shmancy’ basically means ‘fancy’, but in a mocking way.”

“Quiet,” Damian says irritably.

“So what are you doing, anyway?”

“I said be _quiet._ ”

“I want to know what’s going on.”

“Tt. It’s a specialized scanner. Designed to pick up on pockets of air underground. Originally designed for mining purposes.”

“Shum…anncy?” the word comes from Cass, and her head swivels towards Steph.

Steph beams and holds out a fist for Cass to bump. “Got it in one. Shuh-mancy.”

“Shuh-mancy. Shuhmancy. Shmancy.”

“Yes! You go, Cass. At this rate, we’ll have you saying “antidisestablishmentarianism” in no time.”

_“Quiet.”_

Cass stiffens minutely at the thought of big words.

“Or, maybe not. Whatevs.”

“I _said_ —”

The well cover flips up, forestalling any further discussion as a man in black bursts out.

“ _Whoa!_ ” Steph yells, hands up. “Cass, don’t!”

Cass stops in mid-lunge, two feet away from the figure, and changes direction till she’s crouched in front of Damian, obviously protecting him.

“Easy there,” Steph says, walking towards the caped crusader and trying not to freak out. “We don’t wanna fight, okay? We just wanna talk.”

“So talk.” And wow, that growly voice really hasn’t changed, has it?

“I am Damian Thomas Al Ghul,” Damian says, pushing around Cass. “ _Ibn al Xu’ffasch_.”

Steph knows a bit of Arabic, even though she sounds like she’s gargling sand when she tries to speak it, but—son of the something? Son of the—wait,seriously, _bat?_

There is a long and awkward silence.

Stephanie drops the bag next to her. “So, um, I’m gonna go make sure the bikes aren’t stolen. Why don’t you guys have a, uh, chat?”

And then, because she really isn’t an idiot (no matter _what_ Damian says) she hightails it out of there.

 

* * *

 

Half an hour later, she’s chilling next to the bikes as Cass comes over the fence.

The bag and Damian aren’t with her.

“I checked. There is…good security. Damian will be…safe.”

And that should have been it, but Cass just stands there, huddled in her torn black cape, looking…lost.

Steph does a quick mental tally on what they’ve got in the freezer. Definitely nothing on this level.

“You know what? There was this place on third and Lexington when I lived here, and they had the _best_ ice cream. Really weird flavors, but really good. You want to see how far my lock-picking skills have come?”

Cass is still unreadable, but something in the way she trots over to the black motorcycle is…looser, maybe. “Come on. This one. Hard enough…hiding one.”

Strictly because it’s practical—and it was Cass’s idea, not hers, Steph would like to tell the jury that right now—Steph swings up behind Cass on the bike and puts her arms around the other girl. For safety reasons. Of course.

And any hugging that might or might not happen is strictly to make Cass feel better about having to give Damian to his dad.

Steph won’t miss tripping over random junk on the floor or dealing with a ten-year-old with a superiority complex or arguing over the most random things or having to steal back her hair dryer when he insists he needs it for whatever project he’s working on.

She won’t!

(But she might break her record later that night for most Honey Lavender ice cream in one sitting.)

 

%MCEPASTEBIN%

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been ages and ages and I sincerely apologize for the wait. On the plus side, this is the longest chapter I’ve posted for this story yet, so…yay?  
> Huge thank you to the fantabulous sass-mistress-lucifer for beta-reading this.   
> The garage name…I wanted to name drop the Flash TV show, thought of Dr. Wells, but dealing with that many ‘S’s’ gave me a headache. I’d been reading a lot of Star Wars, had the name Harrison on the brain, and well…  
> I know literally nothing about cars because I can’t even drive yet, so for the first bit in the garage I went and tracked down my dad (lived in North Dakota most of his life, learned to take care of his own car) and interrogated him on what would require a mechanic to go rooting around the undercarriage of a car. Because the metal image of Wally sitting up and whacking his head was too good to resist. So thanks, dad.  
> I enjoyed writing the West-Crock family(ish?) fluff. There will also be a new one-shot going up later tonight written ages ago that couldn’t go up until Iris and Jai moved in with Wally and Artemis. (yeah, I’m reposting that preview thing)  
> I have absolutely no plans to write about the incident where the League discovered Bruce’s plans for the zombie apocalypse(s).  
> Also, I struggle with writing Bruce and feel like I sorta need to apologize for his resulting ghost-hood in this chapter.  
> Stephanie’s voice is easiest for me, and in this chapter was also best suited for the show-not-tell style I needed. Sorry if someone wanted more Cass or Damian POV.  
> I feel like I should state right now that the plan is for Dick to not regain his memories. Sorry! A few things do bleed over—he knew Jason, Donna, and Cassie before he became a Talon, so he kind of remembers them. Well, his body remembers the way it reacts.   
> Again—I struggle with writing Bruce. So no showing of the confrontation between father and son. Do you think the situation as it is will last?  
> You ever been through that thing where you find a lost kitten and start wanting to love it and keep it and then the owner shows up and you have to let it go back? That’s how I kept picturing Cass in the last section.   
> Why are all the children in this chapter analogous to cats? I have no idea. Is it something I should be concerned about?  
> Honey Lavender ice cream is a thing. It's sold by the Salt and Straw in Portland and it's delicious as sin.   
> Next thing to go up will be the one-shot—probably tonight, since it’s already written—and after that, I have to go back to school, so I can’t give you a good schedule. I think another chapter of this story will be next after that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don and Dawn seek sympathy and wind up with unexpected help. Conner tries to adjust. Damian fails to adjust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well. er. it has been a while, hasn’t it?  
> Figured that a quickish recap of what you already know would be good. 
> 
> Barry and Iris—the former Flash and leader of the Outsiders (resistance meta cell) respectively. Currently hiding out in Keystone/Central area with  
> Don and Dawn—B&I’s kids. Twin speedsters. Suffered from accelerated growth—chronologically three years old, physically fifteen, spent most of their lives in VR.  
> Wally and Artemis are in DC with Jai and Ree, two speedster children Barry found in Cadmus.  
> Red Arrow (Will) and Jade, along with their kids, are currently on the move.
> 
> Jason, Donna, and Cassie are in Gotham, getting back into the vigilante groove. Dick—Talon—has been brainwashed by the Court of Owls and tasked to spy on them.  
> Cass and Steph are also in Gotham, also doing the vigilante thing, much more quietly and casually. They are peripherally involved with the Resistance.  
> Damian was with them, but went back to live with Bruce, who is hiding out in the Batcave. 
> 
> Kaldur, M’gann, Tim, Garfield, Karen, and Barbara are still members of the Justice Lords. Barbara is working as a double agent. Garfield has been looking after a girl in a coma—Raven.  
> Conner was imprisoned in the Phantom Zone by Tim and M’gann. There, he was further imprisoned by General Zod, where he met the general’s son, Lor-zod.
> 
> Luthor has opened communications with Darkseid and Savage on Apokalips.

**Mountain Ranch, TX**

**April 26**

**20:34 MST**

**Reyes-Allen household**

“There is _literally nothing_ to _do_ in this town,” Milagro groans, flopping down on the hideous plaid couch. “The biggest business is the _grocery store,_ and it’s _closed_ now.”

“Not true. There’s tons of stuff to do here.” Bart bounces on the edge of the huge old recliner next to the cough. “Ooh! Ooh ooh ooh, we could go to—”

“ _No playground,_ ” both Reyes siblings chorus at once. Jaime doesn’t even look up from his book to do it.

“Whaaaat? Why not?”

“You know why.” Jaime turns another page, frowns, and adds something to his notes.

“All I said was that I bet the merry-go-round could be more interesting—”

“I’m sure it’s more interesting now that it’s lying in a field five miles away from where it started,” Milagro grumbles. She had _liked_ the merry-go-round.

“We could play video games.”

“I’m sick of video games. Can’t you play with Don and Dawn? They _like_ video games.”

Bart looks uncomfortable for a grand total of .5 seconds before shrugging it off as fast as everything else.

“Eh. They’re not here. You are.”

Jaime suddenly looks up, head tilted the way it does when Khaji Da is talking to him.

“Hey, Mila, can you get the door?”

She does.

Jaime glares at her for it.

What? He never said she couldn’t use a construct.

Milagro waits for about five seconds and then asks, “Can I close it now? It’s cold out—”

Jaime throws his arms across his book and papers as the _whoosh_ of two arriving speedsters sends a wind whipping around the room. “Close it now.”

Milagro dissolves the construct just in time to watch Bart get tackled by two overly-huggy teenagers—with uncharacteristically grumpy looks on their faces.

“Get—yes, yes I’m happy to see you too, family reunion, now _get off._ ”

She can see Jaime giving Bart the _disappointed_ look he got from Mom. It’s as effective as it had ever been on Dad, because Bart looks suitably chastised and gives the briefest of hugs—even for a speedster—back.

Dawn and Don are satisfied, but even after they’ve hugged Jaime and retreated to the couch to bury Milagro in a cuddle pile, they still radiate huffiness.

“Um…” Milagro attempts to extract her ring hand and reach for the TV remote. “Video games?”

The twins adjusting to real life outside of a virtual reality has been an exercise in fits, starts, and the healthy application of lots and lots of pseudo-virtual-realities in the form of gaming. And hugs. Can’t forget the hugs.

Honestly, Milagro would have thought that they would lean more towards the opposite extreme after a lifetime in isolation, but it made them extremely tactile. Maybe it’s a speedster thing?

And since Iris and Barry, as much as they both care, tend to work themselves off their feet half the time—the extended West family and associates have been helping out.

She can see Jaime raise a hand to his ear and move to another room to call Iris as Milagro gets the gaming system up and lifts three remotes over to the couch—all with her ring, because Don and Dawn still refuse to let her go.

It only takes one round of Halo before Dawn explodes. Milagro adds it to her mental tally and absently puts a coating construct on the floor to prevent any more speedster pacing damage.

“It’s not _fair!_ Everyone else in the family has done it, why can’t we? We’re old enough!”

“Everyone else in the family has done _what?_ ” Jaime inquires.

“Been a superhero! _Helped_ people!”

“She says we aren’t ‘old enough’,” Don grumbles from his spot on the couch. “We are _too_ old enough. Wally was thirteen.”

“Tch. And you’re _three,_ ” Bart points out.

“Only chronologically,” Don points out just as Dawn blurts “Are _not!_ ” The twins glare at each other, and then Dawn switches to Bart. “How old were _you_?”

“That was _different._ And I was—physically, biologically, _mentally,_ **and** chronologically—still older than you.”

Milagro wishes she had popcorn.

“Okay, okay. Time out.” Jaime steps into the middle of the confrontation. “Start from the beginning.”

The twins end up talking over each other.

“Wejustwantedtogooutformorethanjustarun—”

“Therewasafireandwewentintohelpbut—”

“Andshewouldn’t _listen_ andtriedtogroundusagain—”

“TheimpulsenameisstillupforgrabsIdon’t—”

“ _TheImpulsenameis_ not _upforgrabsyou—”_

And that’s Bart, jumping to his feet. Jaime buries his face in his hands as Milagro seriously considers trying to dodge the three Allens and go for popcorn. She can’t contain them with constructs—keeping one speedster contained is hard enough and keeping two in the same spot is near impossible. Containing three in three different constructs would _not_ work.

“All right, _enough!”_ Jaime shouts out, Khaji Da augmenting his voice. Milagro finds herself automatically straightening up, because he sounds _way_ too much like Mom.

Bart, Don, and Dawn end up settling down, sulkily. Jaime grips the bridge of his nose.

“Bart, _te amo,_ but please be quiet for a bit. Don, Dawn, _one_ of you explain again— _slowly_.”

The twins have a brief, whispered, argument, but eventually, Dawn starts to explain and the story comes out. The two of them had been out on a run when they saw an apartment building on fire, and naturally, they’d decided to help. They’d gotten everyone out of the building, but they’d also been seen by the troops sent to help out.

Don and Dawn had both gotten away safely, but Iris had _not_ been pleased. She’d tried to ground them again, especially when the two of them had tried to argue that they be allowed to continue the family tradition of costumed careers.

The two of them had taken off halfway through the argument, and Jaime nods when Milagro glances over at him—their story matches up more or less with what he got from Iris.

“Uh, guys, in case you haven’t noticed— _no one’s_ doing the superhero thing right now.” Bart sounds even grumpier than usual.

“Except for the Lords, but you don’t wanna be like those _bolsas de pollas,_ ” Milagro feels compelled to add. Jaime gives her a Mom look and okay, that’s not fair. “Oh, come on, it’s not like you don’t think so too.”

“I—you know what, never mind. Look, Dawn, Don—your mom isn’t wrong. This isn’t a good time to be wearing a suit and lightning bolt. And yeah, we did it too, but we all had the Team.”

“Hey!”

“ _A_ team,” Jaime corrects himself. “But right now, there’s too much scrutiny to coordinate on that scale, and that’s even without most of the free heroes left working independently for the Resistance. We can’t afford new variables right now. It’s great that you want to help, but right now, the most help you could be is by not stirring anything up.”

Don and Dawn don’t protest, but they still look mutinous. Milagro agrees, but she knows better than to make herself another target of the lecture.

Jaime sighs. “Look, we can dig out the sleeping bags if you want to stay here tonight, but I’m not going to argue with Iris.”

“What you’re scared of her?” Bart jokes at him.

“Not me. Khaji.” Jaime hooks a thumb at his back. “And what, you aren’t?”

“Point.”

But the twins end up going, grudgingly. Jaime waves goodnight and closes the door behind them, so he doesn’t see Milagro slipping out of the room.

Sneaking out her window is even easier than ever, now that she can fly, so she’s over the mountain and scanning for dust trails in less than a minute. Catching up is a bit harder, but she manages that as well, and gets their attention to boot. They end up on a mountainside ridge, hidden beneath the branches of a mountain laurel grove.

Bart might deny any familial resemblance, but the way the two speedsters immediately demand, “What?” is all too familiar.

“Chill, _eses_. I just wanna talk.”

“About what?” Don asks while Dawn demands, “Are you gonna tell us we’re stupid and too young and wrong too? _Ow!_ ” The last is an unexpected addition after Don kicks her on the ankle. “I don’t _care_ if it’s not polite—”

Milagro cuts them off, because she knows from definitive experience that the two of them can forget anyone else exists once they get going. “No, I don’t. I wanna help.”

“Help how?” Don asks, and his face is curious and calculating. Even Dawn gets distracted from her impending rant.

“Jaime’s not wrong. Solo heroing is dangerous right now.”

“So what are we supposed to do?”

“Let me _talk,_ geez. I know people. You guys can meet people. And I heard a lotta stuff, hanging around with the Outsiders. The Lords tried to track down all the metas, but the Resistance was better. A few joined up, but most of them just needed help staying off the radar.”

“Then why would they be willing to fight now?” Don doesn’t sound accusing, just curious.

Milagro shrugs. “Maybe some won’t. But then again, things change. Maybe some will. It’s got to be better than doing nothing, right?” _And definitely a lot less boring._

The twins pull to the side and whisper together for a full minute—a long conversation, for them. Milagro picks out stars between the branches and listens to her ring name them, imagining what it would be like to see them for herself.

The ring won’t let her leave orbit until she’s eighteen. The Corps doesn’t train underaged soldiers. It had stuck around, though; why, she wasn’t sure. Maybe because the Green Lanterns liked to keep an eye on people suitable to be ringbearers. Maybe because they knew they’d have to come here and break her fingers themselves to take it away from her. Maybe because, for all she knew, the rings couldn’t be taken away until the bearer died.

Maybe—she had thought late at night when the world seemed too big and the Lords too powerful and the Resistance too small—maybe the ring knew how much she needed it.

“Okay,” a voice announced, breaking her out of her reverie. “We wanna help.”

“Where do we start?”

Milagro pulls herself back to the present, and thinks. “For now? Go home. It’s late everywhere, and we need a better plan before we start doing anything else. Tomorrow, I’m supposed to be babysitting, but Sunday—you guys know the STAR labs in Kansas?”

“The robotics one, right?” Dawn looks intrigued.

“Yeah. There’s a scientist there, Stone, and his kid is supposed to be some sort of computer whiz. Like, abnormal computer whiz. He’d probably be able to help us out.”

“STAR labs, Kansas, Sunday,” Don repeats back. “Got it.”

“Just let me call ahead first. And maybe don’t tell your mom.”

“Trust us, we won’t.”

The two of them say goodbye, a lot less grumpily this time, and take off, speeding down the mountainside, dust train in their wake.

Milagro watches it gleam in the moonlight and dissipate before she goes back to watching the stars and dreaming of flying between them.

 

* * *

 

**The Phantom Zone**

**Time Unknown**

 

Kon tries every door he comes across. All of them are locked, and for the first time in his life, he can truly appreciate just how annoying doors you can’t break open are.

He can’t pick up in the kid’s breathing or heartbeat, but don’t normal people always talk about hearing footsteps? Those should be audible, right?

“Look, are you here or not?” He finally asks, just because not knowing is driving him nuts.

There’s no response, and then he realizes that he probably shouldn’t sound like he does when Wally eats his share of M’gann’s cookies.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says, more quietly this time. “I just wanted to ask if you know any way out of this dump.”

Silent as a breeze, the kid pops up next to him. “Just one, but it’s not down here.”

“What are all these doors for, then? Why are they locked?”

Lor looks away. “I—I don’t—”

“Hey, you can tell me.”

“I. I wasn’t—Raina wouldn’t tell me, but—there was, when the General first got the door open, to the outside, they didn’t unlock these doors, and, and, there was screaming. And then there wasn’t. And these doors still don’t open.”

Kon can feel something surging up. “Lor, get away from me, right now.”

He doesn’t see if the kid got away before his vision whites out with rage, but he hopes like hell.

 

* * *

 

When he can see again, a couple of the doors have been dented and part of the wall smashed. The smell coming out is enough to make him gag.

Lor’s back, staring at the broken wall.

“Hey,” he says, voice rough. The kid flinches, but he looks away from the damn hole.

“Come on,” he says, getting to his feet. “Let’s clear out of here, come on.”

 

* * *

 

He breaks down two more times before they make it to an end of the fort far away from the crypts, but both times, he manages to warn Lor and the kid’s still there after he comes out of it.

The fort is old stone, of a kind he’s never seen before, but it’s still sturdy. The doors are metal, tough and dark, and the locks are strong enough that he can’t break them open without his strength.

Not all of them are locked, and eventually Lor leads them into a little cell with an open door and a glowing stone set in the wall. A couple pallets have been shoved against the wall, but there aren’t any personal items around.

So this isn’t where Lor lives when he’s on his own. That’s okay.

To Kon’s surprise, Lor digs around under one of the pallets, and comes out with a roughly made shirt, presenting it to him like a trophy.

“Thanks.” To his even greater surprise, he finds he actually means it. The shirt is unembellished, no logos and visible stitching, and it’s a little longer in the arms than he likes, but it fits and fits fine.

“You like it? It doesn’t—there’s no crest, but I bet I could—”

“No.” He cuts Lor off a little more harshly than he meant to, but he doesn’t take it back. “This is fine. This is better.”

Lor looks crestfallen. “But—your House—it’s all you have.” He rubs at his left arm. “You could get a—some of the other adults have tattoos, but they’re all outside now—”

“Kid, I told you. I don’t want the crest. You don’t have one, and you’re—”

Lor looks away, abruptly.

“I didn’t mean it like—” Kon tries again.

“’M tired. Goodnight.” He curls up on top of one of the pallets and turns to face the wall in a clear ‘leave me alone’ gesture.

Kon can feel rage building up again, but he clenches his fists, and focuses on the small sleeping form on the pallet, and breathes.

Just…breathes.

 

* * *

 

When he wakes up, hours later, it happens slowly. Things come in pieces.

He knows he’s alone now, that he can’t hear the kid—Lor—breathing. He knows where he is. He knows how he got there.

Rage bubbles up, compounded by the many aches on his body. They did this to him, Tim and M’gann. He trusted them and they _betrayed_ him, and threw him here.

His fist slams into the wall, and he only realizes when genuine pain shoots up his nerves. It’s enough to wash away the last haze of the unnatural anger.

He blinks at his bleeding knuckles, and tears a scrap from his bedding of last night to blot the blood away.

“Hey, kid!”

Not so much as a single stirring of air. Kon forces himself to take a deep breath, and iron the anger out of his tone. “Lor. I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.”

Still nothing. He probably has left.

When Kon goes to leave out the open door, he finds a heap of cloth at his feet. It’s the shirt from his costume, the one he tore off yesterday.

He leaves it there and starts walking.

By the time his stomach has seriously started to growl at him, he’s covered twelve corridors, tripped over the shirt three more times, and found absolutely nothing.

The fourth time it happens he has to grit his teeth and breathe slowly until the fury slides away. The kid may be annoying, but he isn’t hostile. Kon isn’t going to be the next person to hurt him.

He sits down next to the shirt and prepares to play a waiting game, trying to remember everything Kal ever told him about Kryptonian culture.

After a while, Lor appears again on silent feet. “You don’t want to belong to your house?”

“It’s complicated.”

Lor gives him a look that reminds him a lot of Gar. “Everything’s complicated.”

He’s not wrong.

“I’m not a good person. You’ve seen me get angry.”

“You told me when you were getting angry.”

“I still got angry.” He’s getting angry again right now. Why does this kid have to be so stupidly invested? “I don’t want to wear it, alright? You can have it, if you want.”

“I—” Lor looks scared. “I can’t! I belong to Zod!” He reaches for his left arm. “I—I can’t!”

He’s gone, running away before Kon can stop him. The stupid shirt is still there.

Kon slams his fist into the ground and doesn’t feel it hurt, this time.

And then he does, and he also wants to collapse on the ground and not get up, and he’s still hungry, and that stupid shirt is _still there_.

The next time he sees the kid, he should probably try to get food _before_ touching on any potentially upsetting topics.

 

* * *

 

**Wayne Manor**

**April 27**

**00:24 EDT**

“Again.”

Damian grits his teeth before throwing himself into the battle against the training dummies again, venting his anger with every vicious strike.

With Cassandra, he had practiced non-lethal strikes. She had never spoken outright against his use of deadly force, but had never instructed him in such moves either. And while he could adapt the moves she taught him to kill, it seemed disrespectful.

Besides, he used see the pride in her eyes whenever she recognized his adaptation of a previously fatal move.  

With Father, all his actions are met with such cold indifference that trying to impress him is useless.

He stabs his sword through the heart of the last holographic dummy, watching it collapse and fade away. Surely that time was better than his last.

“Again.”

Damian whirls around and slashes his arm out. “How do you expect me to improve if you won’t tell me what I’m doing wrong?”

Father looks up at that, face unreadable.

“This will be the seventh time today I have run this exercise. The forty-eighth time since coming here. And in all those times, you have said nothing. What about my performance is _dissatisfactory_ , Father?”

“I would think you’d be used to not questioning your trainers.”

Damian shifts his grip on the hilt and adjusts his stance. “And I thought this wasn’t the League of Shadows.”

When Father doesn’t respond, doesn’t even look him in the eye, Damian slides his katana into its sheath over his back and stands his ground. “Mother told me you were one of the best fighters in the world. The best outside the League. That you were a brilliant strategist. I came to find you because I wanted to learn from you.” _I wanted to know you._ “How am I supposed to do that when you won’t even speak to me?”  
Damian knows he sounds like a petulant child, but he needs to understand this. Needs to make Father understand. He lost his home, his teachers, his _mother_ , years ago. He has crossed the entire world with only Cassandra at his side. He has fought, he has stolen, he has lied so many times with nothing behind him and only the slimmest of chances ahead of him.

He will not be treated like he is worth so little.

Father opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, and for a moment Damian thinks that he has succeeded, that he will finally get some answers, that Father will finally respect him enough to answer—

“Run the drill again.”

Damian wants to snarl.

Instead, he bows as curtly as he ever did to his instructors, unsheathes his katana, and lunges at the reappearing holographic figures.

He is, if anything, even more savage than before.

* * *

 

**Unknown Location**

**Earth**

**April 27**

**22:06 PDT**

“Unacceptable.”

_“You can hardly fail to understand our physical constraints, Luthor. The Warworld is currently several galaxies away from Apokalips, let alone Earth. It will take some time for it to return. It isn’t like you to allow that time to be wasted._ ”

“I—Darkseid. All you need provide are troops for the invasion itself. The people of Earth are already so beaten down that they will be pitifully easy to subdue.”

“ _I have subjugated many worlds, Luthor. Do not question me on this. They are passive under their overlords because those overlords are_ theirs. _Outsiders will be viewed more harshly, particularly in light of the Reach’s utter_ incompetence _. I will not have this bungled a second time.”_

“Godfrey will be useless as an agent. He was too strongly ousted by the Lords in their suppression and censoring of the media. He would never be allowed re-entry.”

“ _True. But Godfrey was hardly my only operative. I trust you have the means to mask a single person’s entry via Boom tube?”_

“I do. But I still—”

“ _Enough. I grow weary of your protests. You will make preparations within the next week for my operative’s arrival. She will convey further instructions to you once there. You are to accept her as my voice in all matters pertaining to preparing humanity for the invasion.”_

Silence.

“ _Unless, of course, this is too much for you. I will gladly withdraw my support and allow you to attempt to conquer your world alone. I understand working with others doesn’t come naturally to you.”_

“Don’t bother. I accept your terms.”

_“How fortunate._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge, huge thank you to everyone who followed and bookmarked this story during my long absence, and everyone who cares enough to read it now.  
> This chapter is a bit of an in-between one; not exactly filler, because everything that happens is necessary set-up, but slow.  
> It really has been awhile. My only excuse is laziness. And losing my notes, and switching laptops, and college stuff and SATs and basically a whole year of life and all the accompanying mess of junior year and you’re not reading this for my diary.  
> Anyways.  
> A relevant point is that I wound up getting into and writing for Red vs. Blue this year, so interested parties can check that out on my profile.  
> I swore I would get this thing updated before a year had passed, and I am squeezing in the day before the deadline. O frabjous day!  
> And now, I swear again, that I will get this thing updated before November. I would say October, but I’m about to start senior year and still getting back into the swing of this thing, so I’ll make promises I’m likely to keep, thanks.  
> If you have the time and energy, I appreciate each and every one of your reviews!

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, hello. My sincere apologies for the month-long wait. I'll try to be more prompt with the next update, which will probably be the coffee shop oneshot in "Day by Day."
> 
> This chapter is where the ball really starts rolling on the sequel, so I'd love to hear your thoughts. In the meantime, a few quick notes:
> 
> Yes, I'm going with the Court of Owls storyline. It won't be very much like the comics, but a few elements will be incorporated.
> 
> I had tons of fun writing for the Gotham groups. (They're my new favorites. Shh, don't tell the others.)
> 
> Stephanie's Spoiler costume is based off the one she wears in the New 52. The one she regrets would look more like her preboot, the one with the full-face mask. Damian is wearing something similar to his Robin costume, but lacking the logo. Cassandra has the cape from her Black Bat run, which was too cool not to include.
> 
> Dick, at this point, has very vague memories of the circus, but almost nothing from afterwards.
> 
> Wally works as a mechanic, much like he does in the comics. And listens to the Beach Boys.
> 
> I'll refrain from commenting on the Cadmus scene. *grins* Actually, I'll say one thing, and that is that I know how Iris and Jai's powers work in the comics, and I have an explanation. Just not yet.
> 
> So now the Lords no longer have the tech to track speedsters. That should make things simpler.
> 
> Again, if you have the time, reviews would be greatly appreciated!


End file.
